


'tis the damn season

by lily_winterwood



Series: the lily winterwood cinematic multiverse [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Hunters, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Banter, Basically Cas is still an angel and angels exist but Dean and Sam aren't hunters, Christmas Party, Dean and Sam basically have a Buzzfeed Unsolved channel, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Generously cribbing plot points from famous angel romance movies, Holidays, Jewish Charlie Bradbury, Lawyer Sam Winchester, Light Angst, M/M, Multimedia, Not so much a slow burn as a medium sizzle, Self-Indulgent Americana Nonsense, Self-Indulgent Holiday Nonsense, Slice of Life, YouTuber Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: Sam and Eileen would be going to the party together. Dean would have no one. And that meant he’d be relegated to at least three hours of his own father complaining about his eldest son being an immature fuckup who thinks making videos for YouTube counts as a job… on his own.“Castiel!” he shouts to the living room. “Screw it, I changed my mind. Come back.”Castiel is back in an instant, scruff and all. Dean vaguely thinks about the angel that had appeared to the virgin Mary, and wonders if that one had looked at all angelic, or if all angels were supposed to look like discount Nathan Fillion.“This is a vessel designed specifically to appeal to you,” says Castiel, looking rather smug.Dean resists the urge to flip him the bird.(Dean needs backup for a holiday party. His prayers are answered by divine intervention.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, past dean winchester/jo harvelle
Series: the lily winterwood cinematic multiverse [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081439
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86





	1. the lawyer's brother

**Author's Note:**

> I have watched only 45% of Supernatural, and watched is a relative term since half of the episodes were just playing in the background, so I have absolutely no business writing for this fandom except that the brain gremlins wanted it, and I couldn't say no because they're holding my other fics hostage 😅
> 
> Literally there is nothing of substance from the show here. It's just domesticity and slice of life in a non-hunter AU. Also after years in fandoms with actual gay representation in high-octane stress fandoms I wanted to be Unrepresented and indulge in disgusting mainstream Americana for a little bit. It's 2020, man, and I haven't been back to the US in more than a year, give me a break.
> 
> No beta, we die like ~~men~~ gay angels going to super mega ultra gay hell. Please enjoy!

His mother’s angel tree topper is missing.

Ordinarily, such an observation might not have particularly bothered Dean Winchester, since he’d have assumed that his brother Sam had hidden it for their annual angel hunt. But this isn’t ordinary. 

Sam had spent the night at Eileen’s, as a rehearsal for his move out at the end of the year, so there was no one else who could’ve possibly had access to the tree and its little porcelain angel topper.

So, yes, Dean Winchester is bothered. And it’s not just the missing angel that’s the problem — even though he’s had months to grasp the concept of Sam moving out of the house, something about this impending loss still makes his stomach knot and harden. This year is his and Sam’s last Christmas together like this: both (term used loosely in Dean’s case) functional adults, both under the same roof, both capable of buying each other all the random crap they never got to have as children.

Dean’s had months. He only made it official last night. 

His phone had stopped sending notifications sometime around 3AM last night due to the sheer volume. The video he’d dropped on his channel ( _their_ channel, technically, but Sam has a day job, a career to build) must have struck a nerve.

He doesn’t check the notifications, though. What matters more is finding the angel, because of all the changes that he’s being forced to deal with, that much is manageable at least. He has to find the angel, because it’s an heirloom from their mother, because it has presided over all thirty-some-odd Christmases he’s experienced on this godforsaken planet, because — 

There’s a knock at the door. Dean pulls his head out of his angel-hunting fugue, dusts ornament glitter off his flannel shirt, and goes to answer it.

“Look, if this is about your lord and saviour Jesus Christ or whoever,” he begins as he opens the door, but the rest of his canned tirade fizzles out on his tongue as he takes in the scruffy, very-much-not-Jehovah’s Witness-looking man on his doorstep. “Ship’s long sailed,” he finishes, eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

“Castiel,” says the man. “I heard your prayer last night.”

“What?” asks Dean, intelligently.

“I’m an Angel of the Lord,” says Castiel.

Dean closes the door in his face.

* * *

 **holiday updates**  
1,425,892 views

Team Free Will 

_______________________

1,438 Comments

 **deangirl1976**  
My thoughts are with you this holiday season, Dean! I know it’s rough, big changes like this. But you and Sam will always be brothers and you’ll still have this channel to remember the good times by.

 **moose_n_squirrel**  
sam’s moving out? noooooo

 **fr3will**  
They can still do TFW videos together even if Sam lives somewhere else 

**regentertiary**  
Sam’s serious about Eileen huh? That’s so sweet; I’m glad to hear he’s been able to move on from Jess.

 **q su**  
it’s been years since the accident. if he hasn’t moved on i’d have been worried

* * *

“You don’t remember your prayer?” 

Dean nearly drops the ornament in his hands when he pulls away from the tree to see Castiel now standing in his living room. The so-called angel is wearing a dirty beige trench coat, a messy blue tie, and a quizzical expression. 

“How did you get inside?” he demands.

“Like I said, I’m an angel,” says Castiel.

“Which gives you, what, license to break and enter?”

“You said you had a problem last night.” Castiel stuffs his hands into his coat. “I thought maybe I could help.”

Dean barely remembers what happened last night. He’d poured himself a whiskey after posting the update video, and he remembers refilling his glass after getting a text from Uncle Bobby about the upcoming Christmas party that he’s hosting. Someone — probably Sam — had volunteered Dean’s cooking skills for the shindig, and there’s rumours that even their dad might show up. 

Dean doesn’t drink. Much. Beer doesn’t really count. Besides, the amount of whiskey he downed last night wasn’t blackout levels. So why is this angel going on about something Dean doesn’t remember?

“You said, and I quote: ‘oh god, I need backup for a goddamn Christmas party’,” Castiel supplies helpfully.

Dean frowns. “That’s not a prayer.”

Castiel shrugs. “All the same, what can I do for you?”

Dean sighs at that. Honestly, none of this even remotely approaches being an angel’s business. Surely Castiel had better things to do, like spy on babies or bring dogs to heaven or something?

“No, actually,” confesses Castiel, his mouth contorting into a strange cross between a grin and a grimace. “Answering prayers is part of my job.”

“You can read minds?” demands Dean.

“Yes.”

Dean thinks very hard about how much he’d like it if the angel left.

“If you insist,” says Castiel. “Forgive me if I overstepped.”

With that, he vanishes. But Dean only manages to get a couple more minutes back into his (porcelain, heirloom) angel hunt before he remembers why he’d accidentally called on heavenly backup in the first place.

Sam and Eileen would be going to the party together. Dean would have no one. And that meant he’d be relegated to at least three hours of his own father complaining about his eldest son being an immature fuckup who thinks making videos for YouTube counts as a job… on his own. 

“Castiel!” he shouts to the living room. “Screw it, I changed my mind. Come back.”

Castiel is back in an instant, scruff and all. Dean vaguely thinks about the angel that had appeared to the virgin Mary, and wonders if that one had looked at all angelic, or if all angels were supposed to look like discount Nathan Fillion.

“This is a vessel designed specifically to appeal to you,” says Castiel, looking rather smug.

Dean resists the urge to flip him the bird.

* * *

**teamtfw**

** A List of Our Favorite Team Free Will Videos **

In light of Dean’s announcement about Sam moving out, we at the teamftw team thought it would be nice to reminisce about our favorite TFW videos. 

So in no particular order, the list:

 **1)You’ve Been Dean’d ep 1: We Took a Customer Survey of our Local Public Restrooms  
**The YBD series is the source of So Much Discourse but we thought ep 1 was both funny and cutting commentary on the state of public bathrooms in the US. Its impact was obvious, too, since the episode made the news and got the brothers a response from the city.

Favorite Moment: “So, on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being ‘more private than a Swiss bank account’ and 10 being ‘footage of me taking a dump might be uploaded to PornHub later’: what’s the creep factor of your stall?”

 **2)GhostHunters ep 5: The Sallie House  
**Most people get their intro to TFW through the GhostHunters series. Usually, the bros don’t often get the clearest “evidence” of ghosts on their episodes (but we’re more here for the banter and Sam’s absolutely chaotic disregard for the supernatural). However, the Sallie House is a pretty notable exception.

Favorite Moment: “Hey, demon, turn the flashlight off if you think Sammy’s annoying.”  
[ _Flashlight turns off._ ]  
“See? Even demons know.”  
“Fuck you.”

 **3)Winchesters Play: The W Files (feat. MoonQueen)  
**We like how Winchesters Play is split between video games and board games. In this board game episode, their friend Charlie Bradbury DMs a one-off campaign for them. It was… _incredible._

Favorite Moment: “Dean Van Halen, make a perception check.”  
“Why?”  
“You wanted to see the aliens right?”  
“Okay, okay. I got 12, plus three from my stats.”  
“The aliens are actually tiny naked women.”  
“Fuck yeah.” [ _Charlie and Dean fist-bump._ ]

 **4)Winchesters Play: Betrayal at House on the Hill (feat. MoonQueen)  
**Charlie is just one of those friends of the channel that you want to see, all the time. And she did not disappoint in this episode, either. Sam played an unsettlingly good demonic lackey.

Favorite Moment: “The dog’s name is Miracle, and if anything happens to her I will kill everyone in this haunted house and then myself.”

 **5)You’ve Been Dean’d: We Marie Kondoed Each Other’s Rooms  
**One of those surprisingly sweet YBD episodes. Dean and Sam declutter each other’s rooms as a test to see who knows the most about the other. Spoiler alert: it’s a tie.

Favorite Moment: “What sparks joy in Sammy? Nothing. He’s soulless.”  
“Dean’s room requires a hazmat suit unless you want to come out of it covered in anime waifus.”

READ MORE

#team free will #dean winchester #sam winchester #episode recs

* * *

“So, here’s the game plan,” says Dean moments later, nursing a mug of coffee and a croissant from the big pack that Sam had picked up from Costco the other day. “The Christmas party is tomorrow, and I’ve been drafted to help Mrs Singer cook.”

“Why is she Mrs Singer but her husband is Uncle Bobby?” wonders Castiel.

“Because they’re not actually related to us; he just babysat me and my brother a lot when we were younger,” says Dean.

“Which relates to your anger towards your frequently-absent father,” muses Castiel.

“I asked for backup, not a therapist,” snaps Dean. 

“Apologies,” says Castiel in a tone that suggests he’s not actually that sorry. Dean briefly marvels at the apparent ability for angels to be sarcastic, but then shrugs and moves on.

“So, how long are you here as my backup?” he wonders. “Just for the party? Or is this an on-call sort of thing?”

“I have until midnight of New Year’s Day,” replies Castiel, crossing his arms and leaning against Dean’s sink as if he’s already making himself at home. “Consider it a Christmas present of sorts.”

“From who? God?” Dean snorts. “Next thing you know I’m going to have an immaculate conception.”

“That would be quite the miracle.” Castiel’s gaze now flickers towards the tacky grinning-and-winking statue of Jesus in the corner of the kitchen. Dean chuckles.

“That’s just a prop from a movie,” he explains.

“I fail to see how that is any more comforting.” Castiel’s face is caught in that half-smile half-grimace again. 

“Oh, if you’re an angel, I’m sure you’d love that movie,” says Dean, shrugging. “The real Metatron doesn’t happen to look like Alan Rickman, does he?”

“None of our true forms are meant to be perceived by humans,” Castiel points out.

Dean nods. “Right. We’re getting off track. Christmas party is tomorrow. You’re here until New Year’s, so you could just stay in the guest room, and I’ll tell Sam you’re…” he trails off, unsure. What exactly is their cover story? Maybe not a colleague, since people would ask to follow Castiel’s channel and social media, and he certainly wouldn’t have any of that —

“We shall be whatever you desire,” declares Castiel, spreading his arms magnanimously. 

Dean snaps his fingers. “Friend of the channel,” he says. “Crashing here for the holidays because… well, because. We’ll figure that out later. For now, ground rules. One, no doing anything obviously angel-like. Like appearing out of nowhere, or showing off your wings, or walking on water.”

“What about turning water into wine?” asks Castiel. “I was informed that that would be appreciated.”

Dean laughs. “Look, the last thing we need is you going viral and half of the planet convinced Jesus is back or something, okay? Nothing freaky in public.” Castiel nods at that, so he continues. “Two, we’re going to come up with some sort of backstory for you. You have to stick to that backstory, okay?”

“Like James Bond,” says Castiel.

Dean snorts at that. “You get Bond movies up there?”

“We get anything that humanity broadcasts or puts on the Internet,” replies Castiel. “Why else would it be called cloud computing these days?”

“You know what? I’m not qualified to comment on that.” Dean folds his arms. “Just stick to the backstory. Don’t tell them anything about being an angel, or Heaven, or any of that.”

“I was under the impression that lying was a sin.”

Dean snorts, and wags his croissant at the angel. “Again, accidentally faking the second coming of Christ is at the bottom of my to-do list,” he says. “Now, three, all of this must be over by New Year’s Day, so let’s… keep it friendly, okay?”

Easier said than done. Angel of the Lord he might claim to be, but Castiel’s scruffy discount Nathan Fillion look is, in fact, precision-engineered to tempt Dean off the straight and narrow. If he’d been the first schmuck in the Garden of Eden, all Lucifer would need to do was look like this, and bam, original sin for humanity. 

“Friendly?” echoes Castiel, as if the very concept was perplexing to him. 

“Yeah.” Dean lightly punches his shoulder. “In a bro like way. Like Bond and Q.”

“Bond and Q briefly dated in one of the novels,” Castiel points out.

“Movie Bond and Q, then,” amends Dean, even as he feels his ears heating at how quickly the angel had poked holes in his analogy. “Look, I know I’m a dashing lady-killer of a man, but you’re probably going to meet my dad at that Christmas party, and the last thing I need is for him to have one more reason to hate me.”

Castiel opens his mouth, as if to shoot off some comment dredging back Dean’s earlier remark about therapists, but then seems to think better of it and closes his mouth. “Let me reiterate, then,” he says instead, as Dean tries to busy his hands with finishing up his coffee and croissant, “rule one: don’t perform miracles. Rule two: don’t divert from the backstory.”

“And rule three?” asks Dean.

“Don’t fall in love,” replies Castiel, the corner of his lips twitching upwards in mild amusement, almost as if he thinks the rule is more than a little redundant. 

“It’s just insurance,” says Dean, trying to assuage him. “Might as well both be on the same page about it. If we both know not to play it that way, then we won’t get blindsided by it later, right?”

“Is your dad the sort to automatically assume you would fall in love with a man?” wonders Castiel.

Dean suddenly notices that he has been clutching the edge of his chair. Quickly standing up, he takes his plate and mug with him to the sink to tidy up instead. He can still feel Castiel’s gaze boring into the back of his head, though, as he starts chasing the crumbs off his plate into the garbage disposal. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he says, after a moment. “But considering he doesn’t approve of what I’ve done with my life so far, it’s fair to assume he’d assume the worst.”

Not that the idea of being with a man was the _worst_ , per se. He’s already done all of the relevant panicking during his quarter-life crisis, when his young and scruffy community college accounting professor had smiled at him after his finals and said in a sweet Texas drawl _what an absolute delight it’s been to have you in class, Dean —_

Castiel clears his throat, and Dean is unceremoniously back in the present once more. The angel quirks an eyebrow at him, and Dean’s breath hitches in spite of his previous assertions.

“Well, the party is tomorrow,” Castiel reminds him. “Shall we prepare?”

* * *

 **From:** baby bro  
heading back eta 11

 **To:** baby bro  
kk

 **From:** baby bro  
was the house lonely without me 🥺

 **To:** baby bro  
no. never slept more soundly in my life

 **From:** baby bro  
bitch

 **To:** baby bro  
jerk

* * *

Sam comes back a half hour later than his ETA, but it’s not like Dean was really paying attention. Time flies when you’re showing off your YouTube channel to an Angel of the Lord, after all; they’d just gotten halfway into the Sallie House GhostHunters episode when Dean catches the sound of a car door slamming in their driveway. 

“My brother’s back,” he says. 

“Sam, correct?” asks Castiel. “Planning to move in with his girlfriend?”

“That’s the one.” Dean points a set of finger guns at him. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Sam looks more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than usual when Dean comes downstairs to greet him. “You ate breakfast, right?” he asks by way of greeting. Dean rolls his eyes at him.

“Yeah, coffee and a croissant. It’s a free country,” he adds, when Sam arches a disapproving eyebrow at him. “Saving up my cooking juju for tomorrow.”

“Didn’t know you had to bank it all up like mana,” remarks Sam.

“Yeah, maybe I should’ve informed you about that _before_ you volunteered me for Bobby’s party tomorrow.” Dean rolls his eyes, shoves his hands into his jeans. “Dad’s gonna think we’re trying to poison him.”

“That’s his loss.” Sam shrugs, and turns around to head upstairs to drop off his bag. Dean follows, hoping to forestall any surprise about Castiel before the angel shows up.

But that turns out to be just wishful thinking, as Sam pauses a couple steps up before turning to Dean with a frown and asks,

“You do know there’s some random stranger in the house, right?”

“His name’s Castiel,” says Dean. Castiel waves from the second-floor landing. “He’s an angel.”

“An angel,” echoes Sam. “Like… halo, harp, wings?”

“I don’t have a harp,” protests Castiel. 

“But where’s the halo?” wonders Sam. 

“I thought we were giving Sam the fake backstory,” remarks Castiel, looking pointedly at Dean.

Sam raises an eyebrow. Dean grits his teeth and resists the urge to beg God (or someone similar) to smite him where he stands before this gets any worse. 

“Change of plans,” he says. “We loop Sam in so he can help us come up with the backstory.”

“You really believe this guy’s an angel?” wonders Sam. “Did you order him off Angels ‘R Us or something?” 

“ _Well_ , in a manner of speaking,” begins Dean, but Sam cuts him off with a disbelieving laugh.

“I know you’re having trouble coming to terms with me moving out, but that doesn’t mean you need to fill the void immediately with some drunken bar hookup or something,” he says. “Being alone isn’t _that_ bad, you know.”

Dean immediately raises his hands. “Whoa, whoa, no one said anything about a drunken bar hookup. Did I tell you I went to a bar last night? No? There you go.” He sends Castiel an incredulous look, met only by traitorous amusement. “He’s not a hookup. He really is an angel. And he’s leaving when you’re leaving.”

“Protesting a bit too much, but okay,” says Sam, rolling his eyes. “Sure, he’s an angel. But he’s also your date to Bobby’s party.”

“Not a date,” corrects Dean. “Look, are you going to help me prep him by giving him the lowdown on our channel or not?” 

Sam makes a face. “I _was_ going to go to the office and get some casework done,” he says, “but watching my brother prepare to crash and burn in the court of Uncle Bobby’s Christmas Party tomorrow night might be more entertaining.”

Dean shoves him on his way back up the stairs. “Stanford’s made you a real bitch, you know?”

“And you’ve always been a jerk,” rejoins Sam sweetly, following him upstairs nonetheless.

* * *

** Workout Mix **

Created by Impala67 • 20 songs, 1hrs 42min

  1. Eye of the Tiger - Survivor
  2. Back in Black - AC/DC
  3. Paradise City - Guns ‘N Roses
  4. Hot Blooded - Foreigner
  5. Shake It Off - Taylor Swift



* * *

Harvelle’s is lively with chatter and music when Dean, Sam, and Castiel arrive later that evening.

“I’ve been dreaming about Harvelle’s beer-battered onion rings,” says Dean as he gets the door for them. Sam immediately shuffles off to find them an empty booth, while Castiel lingers a bit longer, staring between Dean and the bar as if unsure what to do next.

The angel has added a blue flannel scarf to his trench coat ensemble. Dean is tickled at the way the scarf doesn’t hide the mild red flush seeping into his cheeks. 

“Come on,” he says, nodding into the mess of bodies and drinks. There’s the clink of cue balls hitting one another on the pool table, the hiss of a soda hose behind the bar counter. Country covers of Christmas songs warble over the speakers. 

Castiel’s face is open with child-like wonder as Dean leads them to where Sam sits triumphantly at a claimed booth, chatting with Jo Harvelle. She smiles at Dean as he nudges Castiel into the booth, their shared history in this town barely visible over the sparkle of her eyes.

“I was just telling Sam it’s been a while since you visited,” she teases.

“I was avoiding the Wrath of Mom,” replies Dean.

A brief shadow flickers over Jo’s face, but she smiles it off. “It’s Christmas,” she says. “Mom would’ve been more mad if you didn’t show up for Christmas.” She looks past him at Castiel, who’s perusing the menu like it’s Moses’s stone tablets. “And who’s your handsome friend?”

“Jimmy,” says Castiel pleasantly, extending a hand for her to shake. “I’m a… friend of the channel.”

Jo’s eyes light up. “A Team Free Will fan?” she asks. Castiel nods. “Did you see the episodes I was in?”

“The… the game night ones, right?” asks Castiel. He flashes her an awkward thumbs-up. “Very funny.”

Jo giggles. “So… are you also a creator? I mean, there’s tons of Team Free Will fans out there; how do you know Dean and Sam personally?”

They’d gone over this story all afternoon. Dean watches Castiel’s expression falter, his own heartbeat echoing so loudly in his ears that he fears Jo can hear it. After a moment, Castiel smiles and shrugs. “Luck,” he says.

“He won a fan raffle to spend the holidays with us,” says Sam, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. “He’s coming to Bobby’s party tomorrow. You’ll be there, too, right?”

“Yeah, Ash is holding down the fort here tomorrow,” says Jo, shrugging. “What can I get for you boys?”

When Jo finally leaves with their orders, Castiel turns to Dean with a raised eyebrow. “You two have history,” he remarks.

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?” wonders Dean.

“Well, fortunately for you, she seems to have found someone else to bestow her affections upon,” replies Castiel. 

“Good for her,” replies Dean. He hates that it’s half-hearted. Jo’s a good girl, really, and despite what happened before she has since readily volunteered her time for his and Sam’s videos. She wants the best for him, and likewise he only wants the best for her.

He just misses being wanted. And with Sam moving out, all of that is only being amplified.

“It’s trivia night,” says Sam, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. He nods to where Ash and Ellen are setting up a projector by the sound system. “I think the game’s starting soon. Want me to enter us?”

Dean shrugs. “Why not? Let’s call Charlie, see if she’s down. She did promise to be on our trivia team last time we played Fibbage.”

“I’ll text her if I don’t see her here already,” promises Sam, clambering out of the booth. That leaves Dean and Castiel alone together, again, and Dean is more aware than ever of how fascinated Castiel seems to be with the eclectic decorations all over the walls. 

“What is this?” wonders the angel, pulling the chain on a salmon plaque next to their table. He jumps in alarm when it bursts into life with a cackle, causing Dean to snort.

“Now you know,” he says. Castiel’s eyes narrow, and he tugs the chain again. 

It cackles again. Castiel tries to tug it for a third time, but this time Dean lunges to intercept him. There’s something mischievous sparkling in the angel’s eyes as he looks at Dean, and Dean can only look back, caught somewhere between breathless and annoyed. 

Thankfully for his sanity, Jo choses that moment to arrive at their table with their drinks and a basket of onion rings, which Dean happily dives into with a mouth-stuffed ‘thanks’. Jo cuffs him lightly about the head with the tray.

“I apologise for his lack of manners, Jimmy,” she says, rolling her eyes. Castiel takes an onion ring and sniffs it. “Try it! It’s Harvelle’s specialty.”

“Best bar food in the state,” declares Dean, flashing her a thumbs-up. Jo shoots him a set of finger guns on her way to take another table’s order, almost bumping into Sam on the way. Dean raises an eyebrow as his brother reclaims his side of the booth.

“You got Charlie? Or Eileen; Cas hasn’t met her yet, either,” says Dean.

“Texted Charlie; she should be on the way,” says Sam. “Eileen’s got a departmental thing at the university, so she probably can’t make it.”

“Sam’s girlfriend works at a university?” asks Castiel.

“Linguistics professor,” answers Sam. “Plus sign language classes, plus seminars on ableism in advocacy movements, plus basically running the school’s accessibility services despite it not being in her job description because the school can’t be assed to hire more disabled people.”

“Sam’s this close to filing a lawsuit,” adds Dean, pinching his fingers together.

“Only a matter of time,” agrees Sam, before taking out their answer sheet and handing each of them a golf pencil. “Charlie said she’d be here in ten minutes about a minute ago, so —”

“I lied,” cuts in a new voice, as Charlie Bradbury pushes her way into the booth next to Sam, grinning at Dean and Castiel. “Got off work early. Bless the newbies; they’re so easily to manipulate into doing your evil bidding.”

“Glad to have you here,” says Dean, as Sam waves Jo back to get Charlie a drink as well. “We’re gonna kick this thing in the ass.”

“You bet.” Charlie smiles at Castiel. “You’re a friend of the channel?”

“Big fan,” agrees Castiel, nodding.

“Yeah, I got that.” Charlie’s smile broadens. “You any good at trivia?”

“We’re in this to win this, Cas — Jimmy,” adds Dean, elbowing the angel. “Free drinks for full points on each round.”

“And baller prizes for the winners,” adds Charlie, nodding towards the table where Ellen and Ash are now opening up the first set of questions. “I heard one of them is a twenty-five dollar gift card to the comics store.”

“Oh, sick.” Dean takes another swig of his drink, before turning to look at Castiel. The angel’s expression is inscrutable, his fingers thoughtfully drumming against the table. “You okay, man?”

“I’m ready,” says Castiel, as Ellen turns on the microphone to announce the start of trivia. 

* * *

**zax 💙 OML S2 LOCKDOWN** @torianoo  
my date has been completely awful so far but at least dean winchester is here #teamfreewill

 **Merry Lizzmas** @liz_wangji  
@torianoo for a moment i thought you were saying you were dating dean winchester

 **zax 💙 OML S2 LOCKDOWN** @torianoo  
@liz_wangji ha! i fucking wish.

 **WanderingStar 🦋** @wanderingstar  
@torianoo WHERE

 **zax 💙 OML S2 LOCKDOWN** @torianoo  
@wanderingstar harvelles trivia night! sam and @/chasmoonqueen are here too! 

**TEN &STARS 💫 world domination 💫 ** @geuggysongs  
@torianoo remember us when ur famous

 **marie // STREAM KINGS &QUEENS** @lightbrigademarie  
@torianoo oomf boutta marry dean winchester 🥲

 **zax 💙 OML S2 LOCKDOWN** @torianoo  
@lightbrigademarie lmao no he’s got some other dude i’ve never seen before

 **LINN’S FUNKY FLOW** @linnaeuscarolus  
@torianoo you cant just leave us like this SOME OTHER DUDE?!?!

* * *

Dean is honestly not sure what to expect from Castiel in a game of human trivia. The angel had mentioned liking James Bond, sure, but he had also seemed completely befuddled by the concepts of law school and singing salmon. 

Tonight’s trivia, probably due to its proximity to Christmas, is themed around a bunch of different Christmas things. They’d done a round about Santa Claus (where for some reason Sam had gotten the plots of _The Santa Clause_ and _Elf_ mixed up), a round about the Nativity (which, for some reason, the actual angel in their group knew the least about), and a round about shitty Hallmark Christmas movies. Their team was in third place, though, thanks in part to both Charlie and Sam’s incredible memories and Dean’s competitive streak. Even Castiel, after being humbled by the Nativity questions, recovered a bit in the shitty Hallmark movies category.

Now: “This next round is about angels,” announces Jo from the trivia table. Dean is pretty sure both he and Sam have identical deer-in-headlights expressions right now. 

“This should be interesting,” says Castiel. Dean snorts into his pint glass. 

Jo is announcing the first question. “What’s the title of the original German film that was the basis for the 1998 film _City of Angels_ starring Nic Cage and Meg Ryan?” 

Charlie’s expression wrinkles. “I should know this one,” she mutters furiously.

“ _Der Himmel über Berlin_ ,” says Castiel immediately. “Or _Wings of Desire_.”

“Really?” asks Sam. “Last time you were this fast giving answers, we nearly bombed the section.”

“I know this one,” insists Castiel. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“Didn’t know you liked German films,” remarks Dean as Sam writes down the answer. 

“Next question!” calls Jo. “In the 1987 film _Date with an Angel_ , what was the Angel’s favourite food?”

“What _do_ angels eat?” wonders Dean, looking at Castiel. “Communion wafers? Holiness and light?”

“French fries,” says Castiel.

“Wait, really?” asks Dean.

Castiel shrugs. “In the film.”

Sam snorts. “How many films about angels have you seen?”

“Too many,” says Castiel, a faint smile quirking at the corners of his lips. 

“Which demon assisted the fallen angels Loki and Bartleby in the 1999 movie _Dogma_?” calls Jo.

Castiel makes a face. “Too many, minus this one.”

Dean snorts. “You’re in luck. _Dogma_ ’s the only angel movie _I’ve_ seen.”

“Match made in heaven,” remarks Charlie slyly. 

“That statue of Buddy Christ in my kitchen is from the movie,” continues Dean. “Alan Rickman Metatron is from the movie.”

“Alanis Morisette as God,” adds Sam. 

“You do know God is omnipresent and omnipotent and thus could take any form that God so chooses?” wonders Castiel.

“God as a hot Canadian alt-rock chick is exactly the sort of thing that would make people more interested in religion again,” retorts Dean. “Anyway, it’s all irrelevant to the answer, which is Azrael.”

They power through several more questions. Castiel makes a couple cryptic remarks about how some of the films are surprisingly true-to-life. Dean doesn’t know what to make of it, so he focuses instead on the happy buzz of alcohol and the heady smell of smoke. 

This is one of their last pub nights like this. Sam may just be moving out, but with the way things are going, Dean’s pretty sure his baby brother will be taking the proverbial arrow to the knee within a year or two. And it’s not like he hates Eileen — she’s wonderful, and dedicated, and clever, and would make a fantastic sister-in-law.

Dean just doesn’t like to be left behind, and that truth fills him like smoke in the lungs, tangles with his throat until it’s hard to breathe. He downs another swig of his beer, before Charlie’s laughter knocks him out of his stupor completely.

“Dudley? Really? An angel named Dudley? That’s too much.” Charlie shakes her head, swatting at Castiel. The angel chuckles as well, his eyes crinkled and warm in the dim light of the bar.

“I’ve heard worse names,” he says. Sam laughs, before handing their answer sheet to Charlie so she can go turn it in. 

“ _The Bishop’s Wife_ ,” he mutters. “What was it even about?”

Castiel hums. “I believe it was about a bishop who prays for guidance on funding a cathedral and instead gets an angel who guides him into being a better person instead.”

“So like, angelic Queer Eye?” asks Dean. Castiel sends him a quizzical stare. “Oh, come on, decades of popular Earth culture and all you know are angel rom-coms and Bond movies?”

Castiel opens his mouth to retort, but then seems to think better of it, especially since Charlie takes that moment to plop back in their booth. “Cute bartender just clocked in,” she announces. 

“Cute bartender?” echoes Castiel, frowning.

“New girl,” says Charlie, shielding her face from the general direction of the bar. “Cute girl. Looks like Storm from X-Men, which is _so_ incredibly my type like you wouldn’t believe.”

Dean cranes his neck towards the bar. Sure enough, a pretty girl with dark skin and a platinum blonde pixie cut is pouring a pint of Guinness. “Damn,” he says.

“Right?” Charlie scrubs her hands down her face. “Is she from the university? Where has she been all of my life? Why hasn’t she shown up at the bookstore yet?”

“Maybe she’s shown up when you weren’t there,” Sam points out.

“Is she _avoiding_ me?” demands Charlie, eyes wide.

“ _Christ,_ Charlie, quench your thirst,” says Dean, pushing his beer towards her. She takes a sip and grimaces. 

“Ugh. What crawled up this beer’s ass and died?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “If you don’t like it, get your own.”

“That means I have to face _her_ ,” says Charlie. “I have to gaze upon her gorgeous face with my own makeup-less one and submit to the mortifying ordeal of Being Known to her.”

“It’s just a beer,” Dean points out. “It’s not like you’re asking her to marry you. Yet.”

“You’re Twitch-famous streamer MoonQueen,” adds Sam bracingly. “You’ve got legions of fans throwing themselves at you every time you play something. You can absolutely order a beer from a cute bartender.”

“Easy for you to say; you’ve already got a hot girlfriend,” mutters Charlie. She takes another swig of Dean’s beer, grimaces harder, and pushes Sam out of the booth so she can stumble over towards the bar. Castiel watches all of this in clear bemusement.

“The scores are back!” announces Jo suddenly. “Team Free Will scored the highest of this batch, with all 10 questions correct!” 

Dean holds out his hand. “High-five, Cas,” he offers.

Castiel shakes his hand instead.

* * *

 **starsinhereyes** **  
**Harvelle’s Bar, Lawrence, Kansas

[PHOTO: Photo of the cute bartender with the platinum blond pixie cut leaning against Charlie Bradbury, with Sam and Dean in the booth across from them. An array of half-drunk pints and a stack of empty food baskets sit on the table between them.]

Liked by **jojoharvelle** and 291 others 

**starsinhereyes** Finally got to meet the brothers behind @teamfreewill and their friend, the lovely @chasqueenofmoons! 📸 credit to 👼 #teamfreewill #moonqueen #harvellesbar #harvellestrivia #happyholidays 

_View all 29 comments_

**jojoharvelle** does she know you’re a moonqueen simp

 **starsinhereyes** omg 💀

 **brainiash** ACT CASUAL WE CAN’T LET CHARLIE KNOW WE YEARN

 **teamdeangurl** Dean looks happier than in his last update. I hope he’s doing ok!

* * *

They get second place in trivia. Not a bad showing, considering their earlier slip-ups, and it does give Charlie the opportunity to steal the comic store gift card. Dean contents himself with a voucher for ten rounds of free food from this bar, and tries to cash it almost immediately. 

“Nice try,” says Jo, rolling her eyes as she puts the slip of paper back into the pocket of his flannel shirt. “It activates in January.”

“Come on, Jo, it’s Christmas,” wheedles Dean.

“Christmas is the day after tomorrow, asshole.” Jo shoves him back towards his booth. “Congrats on second place. Your new boyfriend must have all the brain cells.”

Dean gasps in mock offense. “He’s not — he’s just a fan!”

“Yeah, likely story.” Jo snorts. “You were staring at him like a lost puppy all night. The rest of us have eyes, you know.”

Dean would have some witty rejoinder to that, except at that moment he hears laughter and turns to see Castiel spinning the fidget spinner he’d gotten as his prize on the tip of his finger. Charlie and the cute bartender — Stevie, apparently — are clapping, while Sam is filming the entire thing on his phone. 

“We’ll talk at Bobby’s tomorrow,” says Jo, pushing him a little harder. Dean goes to join his friends and brother, and Stevie takes another round of orders from them before she returns to the bar. Dean slides in beside Charlie, admiring Castiel’s dexterity as he bounces the fidget spinner from one finger onto another. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” wonders Sam, nodding towards the bar with a smirk. Charlie slumps, thudding her head onto the table. 

“That was being _friendly_ ,” she groans. “We took a photo with her.”

“She’s a fan of your channel,” Sam points out. “You could do worse.”

“That makes it worse,” says Charlie. “I don’t want to make it look like I’m… you know, taking advantage. And I don’t want to make any major moves right _now_ , you feel?”

“No, I don’t feel,” says Sam, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“The _Christmas magic_.” Charlie’s tone is sardonic as she puts air quotes around ‘Christmas magic’ with a roll of her eyes. “You know, that thing where you try desperately not to be lonely for Christmas so you’ll ask anyone out with a pretty face and a pulse? And it all falls apart by January because once the champagne’s popped you realise you’ve got nothing in common after all?”

“ _Is_ that a thing?” wonders Sam.

“We just answered a bunch of trivia questions that prove it _is_ a thing,” says Charlie, “and I wouldn’t really know better, considering that for a good part of my life, shitty Hallmark movies are all the exposure I had to the holiday.”

Dean snorts at that. “Life isn’t a shitty Hallmark Christmas movie,” he says, though Sam’s sidelong glance at the literal angel sitting in their booth briefly evaporates his words. “I mean — you’re coming to Bobby’s party tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t your dad supposed to be there?” wonders Charlie. “Me punching him in the face on behalf of your childhoods might dampen the holiday spirit a little.”

“Maybe wait for us to start drinking, then,” agrees Sam. 

“You say that like Dean isn’t going to be pre-gaming for the party,” teases Charlie. “Plus, Rufus and I had plans to get Chinese food and watch _Die Hard_. Wouldn’t want to bail on him.” 

“Oh, no, nothing could beat Chinese food and _Die Hard_ ,” concedes Dean. He goes to grab the last onion ring in the basket, only to find that the entire thing has been refilled while he wasn’t looking. Immediately, he looks at Castiel, and the angel merely winks in response as he takes another onion ring. 

Dean shakes his head, amused nonetheless. Yet, as he watches the dim pub light and the crooning country music wash over Castiel’s face, he can’t help but feel that telltale spark of warmth light in the pit of his stomach. 

Christmas magic, indeed.


	2. date with an angel

**From:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
jimmy seems nice! 

**To:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
he’s pretty great yeah

 **From:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
where’d you find him?  
and don’t lie about the giveaway, i’d have noticed if you had one

 **To:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
just a friend i called on for holiday backup to the party.

 **From:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
if you’d told me like last week that you needed backup i could’ve offered 🤣

 **To:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
and spend the night listening to my dad complain about you being my jewish girlfriend?  
that’d suck for both of us and you know it

 **From:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
shit you’re right i’ll never get his permission for your hand in marriage if i punch his lights out 👊😤💢

 **To:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
😂

 **From:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
but you’re not worried he’s gonna assume you’re dating jimmy?

 **To:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
jimmy and i have ground rules. we will be the broest of bros.

 **From:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
oh is that what the kids are calling it these days 😏🤔  
i miiiight pop in at the end of the night, since rufus is an old man with an old man sleep schedule  
hopefully your dad will be gone by then too, to avoid any christmas cage fights

 **To:** Her Majesty 🌜👸🏼  
lol probably for the best

* * *

Dean wakes to a pair of blue eyes inches from his own. Cursing, he immediately bolts up, causing the angel said eyes are attached to to duck away at the last minute.

“Personal space, Cas,” grumbles Dean, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Apologies,” says Castiel, folding his hands behind his back. Dean rolls over to check his phone and groans louder, glowering up at the angel.

“It’s 3AM, Cas. I guess angels don’t need sleep, but humans do.”

“I did not mean to wake you,” confesses Castiel.

“So you were watching me sleep? That’s even worse.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I thought humans often prayed for angels to watch them in their sleep.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” grumbles Dean, rolling away from Castiel and pulling his covers back up over his shoulders. “Unless you have some emergency or something, fuck off.”

Castiel says nothing. When Dean peeks back over his shoulder, the spot beside his bed is empty. With a sigh, he presses his hands to his eyes and tries to fall back asleep, but it doesn’t seem to return as easily as it could have just minutes before. 

“I could help with that, you know,” says Castiel’s voice, somewhere to the right of his pillow. Dean curses again.

“I definitely didn’t pray this time,” he mutters.

“Just let me do this,” pleads Castiel.

Dean says nothing to that. He can’t, really, because Castiel’s fingers are cool but soft against his face, and gentle sleep seems to pour right out of his fingertips right into Dean’s mind.

And with that, he’s knocked backwards into unconsciousness without a second thought.

* * *

 **dean winchester believing in the supernatural for 5 minutes straight**  
536 views

ghosthunterss

_______________________

39 Comments

 **Demian R.**  
I’m just like Dean in that I believe there’s something else beyond our perception but it doesn’t always want to make itself known. Whether that’s ghosts or demons or angels or whatever, I think that something else doesn’t necessarily have to be 100% good or 100% evil. They’re as neutral as human beings are. 

**Grunkle Barney**  
I’m really gonna miss the frequent updates! TFW has helped me out of some really bad places and I’ve gotten used to my subscriptions every morning to see if they’ve posted something new. But it’s good to see Sam’s career taking priority. 

**S. Beckmann**  
he never cared for the channel as much as dean did, anyway

 **samlicker81**  
@S. Beckmann well, yeah, because it was his brother’s project? and even if it wasn’t his baby personally he did his best ok. dean girls can be so annoying

 **TwistedHacklesGurl**  
oh you wanna talk annoying? sam girls have been harassing eileen for the past how many months now? ableist dicks

 **jacytheblue**  
Sam calling Crowley a coward for not showing up when they tried to summon him is some Big Dick Energy omg

 **n-x-northwest**  
It’s a miracle these boys haven’t died or gotten cursed yet!

* * *

Dean wakes for real to the sound of children laughing outside his window. He stumbles into his bathrobe and goes to the window, and is momentarily blinded by white from as far as the eye can see.

It’d been cold these past few weeks, with only piddling droplets of snow once in a while. But today, on Christmas Eve, there’s more than an inch of snow on the ground and the neighbourhood children are going nuts about it. 

He supposes it could just be luck, but there’s definitely a touch of miraculous to it, too. 

The smell of eggs and bacon floats up from downstairs. Dean follows it and the sounds of laughter and cooking until he hits the kitchen, and Sam’s girlfriend Eileen is perched by the breakfast table signing avidly with Castiel. 

“Good morning,” she tells Dean, her hands excited and her eyes sparkling. 

Dean nods. “When did you come?” he asks, with the accompanying signs. He’s by no means as good as Sam is, but Eileen doesn’t seem too confused, which is a small victory in and of itself.

“About nine,” she replies. “Roads are still being cleared.”

Dean hums. “How was your meeting last night? We missed you at trivia.”

Eileen makes a disgusted face, which tells Dean everything he needs to know. 

“Yeah, apparently the school wants her to teach a class on accessibility politics next semester,” says Sam, setting down his spatula to sign along with his words. 

“I came here to teach sociolinguistics,” grumbles Eileen. 

“Are they offering tenure?” wonders Dean.

“They dangle it in front of me like a carrot.” Eileen’s shoulders slump. Sam puts an arm around her briefly and kisses the top of her head before returning to his cooking. Dean looks over at Castiel, who seems to be deep in thought.

“What’re your thoughts on this?” he asks Castiel, who startles slightly before folding his hands behind his back. 

“Seems unfair,” agrees the angel. 

“Can you do anything about it?” wonders Dean. 

Castiel looks over at Eileen, who is now pouring them all coffee. “Convincing her workplace to give her tenure and hire additional disabled academicians to lessen her workload as the sole accessibility representative on campus? Would take a miracle, and you said no miracles.”

“And yet this town’s weather forecast had not predicted snow for today,” Dean remarks, nodding towards the window where additional snow flurries are dropping. “Seems _miraculous_ , if you ask me.” 

Castiel hums. “Christmas magic, perhaps?” he wonders innocently. 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re the only one here capable of it,” he points out. The memory of Castiel’s fingers are fuzzy like the half-dream it had been, but he still remembers the softness, the gentleness. The warmth inside him flares right up to his cheeks. “I know it breaks rule one, but — it’s _Eileen_ , man.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow, as if he’s scrutinising every inch of Dean’s face. Dean feels pinned down and laid bare, despite knowing he’s definitely wearing clothes. 

The moment is broken by Sam pointedly clearing his throat as he sets down two plates of eggs and bacon. “There’s two more for you two,” he says, as Eileen comes in after him with cups of coffee. “And please, get a room.”

“This is my house,” retorts Dean, choking down his ‘you get a room’ almost as quickly as he thinks it. Sam raises an eyebrow, so Dean grumbles “let’s eat” instead, and goes to get the other plates.

* * *

 **From:** Karen Singer  
Dean, do you mind doing me a small favor?

 **To:** Karen Singer  
what’s up

 **From:** Karen Singer  
Can you help me pick up the honey-glazed ham and the roast beef? I already placed the order but I can’t pick it up because I’ll be supervising the oven. Bobby’s on a booze and present run and I didn’t want to add to his workload.

 **To:** Karen Singer  
no problemo just tell me how much it cost

 **From:** Karen Singer  
Oh, not to worry. I prepaid. You just have to pick it up from Leeway.

 **To:** Karen Singer  
gotcha. I’m bringing a friend to the party tonight, if that’s ok w/ you?

 **From:** Karen Singer  
No problem! Does she have any dietary restrictions I need to be aware of?

 **To:** Karen Singer  
nah, he’s good

 **From:** Karen Singer  
Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. We’ll see him later today, then!

* * *

“What are we doing?” asks Castiel as Dean opens the passenger side door to the Impala for him. 

“Errands,” says Dean, opening the garage door upon a mostly-cleared and de-iced driveway. Sam’s car is already gone — he and Eileen had their own Christmas shopping to do. “Come on, before the snow piles up again.”

Castiel has a little trouble with the seatbelt. Dean chuckles and puts on his tunes, before reaching over to help. 

He’s been in this little town for so much of his life that the local scenery just sort of blends together. Driving down the streets is muscle memory at this point, and almost every face he sees is familiar. But there’s something about Castiel’s presence that makes the experience almost brand-new, as he tries to point out interesting buildings to the angel as they join the Christmas Eve shopping rush.

“That’s the old brewery,” he says, as Castiel cranes his head every which way to take in the sights of downtown Lawrence. “And there’s the Eldridge, where we had our first episode of GhostHunters.”

“The one where Sam got stuck in the elevator?” wonders Castiel.

“That’s the one.” Dean chuckles. “And he still says he doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “You think a ghost trapped him in the elevator.”

“I think it’s pretty convenient that the elevator’s machinery suddenly decided to crap out when Sam went in and insulted a ghost,” replies Dean. 

Castiel hums. As they pass by the library, Dean notices more cars than usual in the nearby park.

“It looks like there’s an ice rink at the park,” he remarks, before looking at Castiel. “The city said they probably wouldn’t have the weather for skating this year.” 

“Probably tied to the Christmas snow,” muses Castiel.

Dean suspects it’s more of Castiel breaking rule one on the sly, but he doesn’t comment further. “I haven’t skated in a long time,” he says instead.

“We should go, then,” replies Castiel. 

“We’ve got errands to do, and Mrs Singer is expecting us.” Dean shakes his head. “We really shouldn’t.” 

_But it would be fun_ , his traitorous brain adds.

“Dean, stop the car,” orders Castiel. 

“I told you, we have errands.”

“Stop the car,” repeats Castiel. “We’re going skating.”

* * *

**dapperprofe**   
Buford M. Watson, Jr. Park, Lawrence, Kansas

[VIDEO: Phone camera footage of a fluffy white dog wagging his tail in the snow. The camera tilts up from the dog to show a decent-sized ice rink filled with skaters. At one point, Dean and Castiel skate into view, Dean clutching onto Castiel’s arm for dear life.]

Liked by **sukeota3sisters** and 345 others 

**dapperprofe** Dexter loves watching the skaters! #watsonpark #christmasmiracles #dogsofinstagram

_View all 109 comments_

**arosiehaze** we miss dexter!!! 

**dapperprofe** dexter misses u too! come visit us at ku sometime!

 **costellations** @mila-b is that dean winchester at 0:29

 **mila-b** holy shit it might be 😱

 **pxpxvxch** who is that with him? 👀

* * *

Dean’s had a lot of fun over the years, through his channel. He’s gone to crazy places, done some crazy stuff. But he’s never had as much fun as he is now, gliding in circles on the ice with an Angel of the Lord pulling him along. 

“You’re making me look bad,” he protests, after almost running into Castiel for the umpteenth time that hour. Hockey skates are a little bit more built for speed than stopping, after all. “Like I said, I haven’t skated in ages.” 

“You’re doing fine,” reassures Castiel.

“Says you.” Dean looks down at Castiel’s own effortless gliding and almost trips up.

“Don’t look down.” Castiel grabs his chin and tilts his face back up, which is entirely the wrong move for someone who’s supposed to be pretending to be just a friend. Dean’s knees go weak again, which causes Castiel’s arms to swoop out to steady him. 

“Let’s go skating, he says,” mutters Dean, his ears burning. “It’ll be fun, he says.”

“That was you,” Castiel points out. “And is this not fun?”

“Can’t you miracle me into being a decent skater?” 

“That would be breaking rule one,” points out Castiel, nodding towards the crowds of skaters around them. “And then I’d lose my excuse to hold your hand.”

Dean blinks. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but Castiel’s cheeks are oddly flushed. And his own voice is a bit too hoarse when he points out, “rule three, Cas,” with some degree of regret. 

“Yes, rule three.” The angel drops his hands and starts to skate away. Dean curses and speeds up to catch up with him. He miscalculates, of course, and ends up barrelling into Castiel, knocking them both down onto the ice.

“Shit,” mutters Dean, as the pain in his knees radiates upwards. It’s not serious, but it is a reminder of why he doesn’t really skate as much at his age as he used to. Castiel looks momentarily stunned from where he’s lying just below Dean, wide blue eyes gazing back up at him. Dean’s stupid, dumbass heart skips a beat. 

_Rule three_ , he reminds himself furiously, clambering back onto his feet and extending a hand to Castiel. The angel takes it, and they glide together in relative silence for a couple minutes more. 

“We should get back to the errands,” Dean muses after a while.

“Perhaps,” agrees Castiel. “I’m sorry, Dean, for distracting you from your duties.”

Dean chuckles. “Something tells me you don’t do this that often.”

“Not as much as I’d like.” They’d reached the doors of the rink now, narrowly avoiding colliding with a bunch of tipsy college students scrambling to get out onto the ice. Castiel’s breath rises in little puffs, yet he doesn’t seem to be aware of how cold his hands must be. Dean wants to reach out and take his hand again, but only barely stops himself. 

“We’ll come back sometime,” he says instead. “Hopefully the weather will hold out.”

“Hopefully,” agrees Castiel, and leads the way back to the car.

* * *

**angelsamongus**

[VIDEO: A shaky TikTok video of Dean crashing into Castiel at the ice rink, set to the infamous chorus of Imogen Heap’s “Hide and Seek”]

i was today years old when i learned that dean winchester can’t skate for shit

#dean winchester #team free will #tfw #every day i learn new things about dean winchester against my will

* * *

The ham and roast beef are obtained without incident, but as soon as they’re safely sequestered in the trunk of the Impala, Castiel breaks off to admire some nearby shop windows. 

“My brother would like that,” he says when Dean catches up with him.

“A hand buzzer?” asks Dean, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s a bit of a prankster,” replies Castiel. “Technically he’s more powerful than me, being an Archangel and all, but… he’s young at heart.”

“Maybe he’d appreciate a souvenir,” replies Dean, clapping him on the shoulder. “Though I’d imagine if he’s a powerful Archangel, he could just come down and get it himself.”

“Archangels rarely come down here,” says Castiel. “Gabriel hasn’t really come down since the whole… _thing_ with Mary. You know,” he gestures to the festive decorations all around them, “all of this isn’t actually supposed to happen in December. His birthday isn’t really in December.”

“Yeah, no wonder we failed the Nativity questions last night,” scoffs Dean. “Come on. You gonna get him a present or what?”

Castiel does. And while he’s busy admiring the other fidget spinners that the shop has to offer, Dean finds himself perusing a rack of socks and gloves. A blue pair of gloves knitted with little angels jumps out at him in particular, and he grabs it without a second thought.

“Here,” he says to Castiel, handing him the gloves and tossing his card at the cashier. “Your hands are cold; put these on.”

Castiel blinks. “My hands are cold?” he wonders. 

“Yeah. And it’s freezing out. Don’t want you to get hypothermia. Or break rule two.”

“Ah.” Castiel stuffs the packaging into the pocket of his coat as he stuffs the gloves onto his hands. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t mention it,” mutters Dean, feeling his ears burn again. “You got your present?”

Castiel nods, rubbing his hands together as if marvelling at the feeling of the knit material against his fingers. Dean chuckles, in spite of himself, and takes him by the arm out the door of the shop. 

“Where to next?” wonders Castiel as they join the last-minute present shoppers thronging the sidewalk outside. 

Dean checks his phone. “Want to see the craft stalls at the Holiday Extravaganza?”

* * *

**Heavenly Honey**   
24 December at 4:39

Come visit our booth at the Lawrence Holiday Extravaganza for some last-minute presents and delicious mulled mead! #heavenlyhoney #jointhehive #madeinlawrence

[PHOTOS: Various shots of satisfied holiday shoppers at the Heavenly Honey booth either drinking mead or sampling tiny toasts smudged with honey. One of the photos is of Dean and Castiel examining some beeswax candles. Dean is holding a cup of mead in one hand.] 

_______________________

👍❤️ 23 12 comments

_______________________

 **Robin Karpluk**  
Is that Dean Winchester from Team Free Will at your booth? 😮

View 11 more comments

* * *

The afternoon light is dipping into gold by the time Dean and Castiel show up at Uncle Bobby’s. At the Holiday Extravaganza, Castiel had bought presents for his coworkers-slash-family (Dean wasn’t quite sure what the distinctions were), and Dean had started his pre-gaming via the mulled wine and mead stands. So when they ring the doorbell and are greeted with the salt-and-pepper visage of John Winchester, Dean is amiable enough to fold him into a hug. 

“Merry Christmas, son,” says John Winchester. He pulls back, claps Dean’s shoulders. “Heard you’d be contributing to the food tonight. Try not to kill us, huh?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” replies Dean. He can feel Castiel tensing beside him. “Dad, this is Jimmy. He’s a fan of my channel. Jimmy, this is my father, John.”

“Nice to meet you, Jimmy,” says John, extending his hand. “Can’t believe you take time out of your day to watch my son make a prat of himself on the Internet, but hey, guess it pays off.”

Castiel shakes John’s hand. “Dean’s channel is the highlight of my day,” he replies simply. 

The compliment is supposed to be fake, but the sentiment behind it hits Dean in the gut nonetheless. He looks at Castiel, and the angel winks at him as he follows John into the foyer. Dean brings up the rear, carrying the bag with the ham and roast beef. 

Mrs Singer comes out to grab the bag from him, effusively showering him with thanks and hugs. He follows her into her kitchen, and it’s like stepping back in time to when he was thirteen, spending weeknights there rolling out pie crust and mixing brownie batter while Sam did their homework. 

(He’d always pay Sam back by letting him lick the spoon and take the lion’s share of the finished goods, so it was win-win for both of them.)

“We’ve got sweet potatoes in one oven and green bean casserole in the other,” says Mrs Singer as she unpacks the ham and roast beef. “And I’m guessing this just needs a bit of a reheat before serving?”

“It’s what they told me,” says Dean, shrugging.

“Perfect.” Mrs Singer smiles. “Now, come help me with the mashed potatoes and the pies…”

Dean is all too happy to throw himself into the hands-on work ahead of him. By the time the other guests for the evening begin pouring into the house, he’s gotten the pies baking, the potatoes mashed, and the gravy mixed. 

Sam and Eileen arrive with snacks and presents. Jo and her mother arrive with onion rings and honey-jalapeño cornbread. Sheriff Mills and Deputy Hanscum show up with wine. Uncle Bobby passes Dean a beer at some point, and everything is a pleasant buzz after that. 

Dinner passes without incident. Castiel introduces himself as Jimmy. Every time Dean finishes his beer, the bottle seems to refill itself. 

“So, Jimmy, you new to Lawrence?” asks Sheriff Mills. Castiel looks up from his plate of onion rings with a look of mild surprise. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, is all.”

“Yes,” says Castiel. “I’m from out of town.”

“Oh?” wonders Deputy Hanscum. “Where? Somewhere else in Kansas?”

Castiel stares at her like a deer in headlights. Dean swoops to his rescue. “He’s from very far away,” he says. “Had to fly in and everything.”

“Like… Canada?” wonders Deputy Hanscum. “Canada’s a wonderful place. I was just up in Vancouver this summer. Gorgeous city. Best Chinese food I’ve ever had.”

“Better than Red Pepper? Sacrilege,” declares Sheriff Mills. 

“Okay, okay, Red Pepper has better Crab Rangoon, I’ll give them that,” admits Deputy Hanscum. “But Vancouver’s got a bigger Chinese population, haven’t they? And if there’s a lot of people there with the palate to judge your cooking, you end up making it more authentic. There’s this one shop Doug and I found that serves just the _most_ delicious soup dumplings —”

“Donna,” warns Uncle Bobby. “Don’t bore our guest.” He turns to Castiel with a nod. “Hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yes,” says Castiel. “Your house is very nice.”

“That’s all Karen,” demurs Bobby. “I’d be a drunk in a shack without her.”

“Sometimes you still are,” remarks John, who’d just emerged from the basement with another beer. “Still, I have to thank you. My boys would’ve turned out worse without you.”

Dean bites back a retort to that, turning instead to offer Castiel a refill on his onion rings. Castiel hands him his plate, and Dean takes a swig of his ever-filled beer bottle and ducks into the kitchen. 

Sam and Eileen jump apart the moment Dean enters. “Oh, don’t mind me,” says Dean as he heads to the leftover food trays piled on the kitchen island. “Carry on.”

“Dean,” groans Sam. 

“What? I said carry on,” says Dean. “My wayward son,” he adds, with a wink and a grin.

Sam looks like he’s about to hurl something at him. Dean chuckles, turning to Eileen.

“How’re you enjoying your first Winchester Family Christmas?” he asks.

“Is your father always that grumpy?” she wonders. 

“It’s Christmas; Dad’s always extra insufferable at Christmas,” says Sam, rolling his eyes.

Dean scoffs. “Well, of course he is, given, you know —”

“Mom serving him a holiday divorce?” wonders Sam drily. “Just because he had a shit Christmas decades ago doesn’t give him permission to be a grinch every year afterwards. Especially when his _young, impressionable sons_ are involved.”

“I’m not excusing his behaviour,” protests Dean. “I’m just explaining it. This is the first Christmas we’ve had with him in years. We might’ve just reminded him about how the rest of the world went on without him.”

Eileen looks between the two of them. “As much as I love your brother, Sam,” she remarks, her expression and signs mildly sardonic, “maybe next year we should do Christmas in Europe.” 

“And leave _me_ here? Thought you loved me, Eileen,” jokes Dean.

“You’ll have Jimmy,” Eileen points out, shrugging. 

Dean opens his mouth to protest, to say that Castiel wouldn’t be with him come New Year’s, but somehow the words won’t come. As if part of him doesn’t want to set Castiel’s departure in stone. 

“I should —” he mutters instead, holding up Castiel’s plate. He fills it up, before ducking back out of the kitchen. By the time he finds the angel again, Castiel and Bobby are now, apparently, trading stories about Japan.

“One thing I miss is how nice the convenience stores are over there,” Bobby is saying as Dean sidles up and presses the refilled plate of onion rings into Castiel’s hands. “You can pay your taxes at a Japanese one. That’s a level of trust with your local Gas n’ Sip that you just can’t get in America.” 

“Yes,” agrees Castiel, in a tone that suggests he actually has no idea what Bobby is talking about. “I, too, found that… very convenient.” 

“Hm.” Bobby scrutinises Castiel thoughtfully. “Forgive my old man’s memory, but you’re just in town for the holidays, right?”

“Yes. I leave on New Year’s,” says Castiel, his hands idly fiddling with one of the onion rings on his plate. 

“You gotta problem with him, Bobby?” wonders Dean, clapping Castiel on the shoulders. 

“Oh, no, he’s been a polite guest,” says Bobby. “I just —” His expression scrunches, as if he’s pushing down something unpleasant. Dean has his suspicions, so he pulls Castiel in a little closer.

“We’re just friends,” he says preemptively. 

“A friend none of the rest of us have ever met,” Bobby points out. 

“Yeah, that’s… how internet friends work. You find them, you invite them to your hometown, they show up.”

Bobby grimaces. “I guess I’m just too old-fashioned, but that’s a leap of faith I’m not willing to take, internet bestie or no.”

“Well, it’s worked out for me so far.” Dean extends his arms, shrugging. “Wouldn’t have found Charlie without my channel, for one.” 

“Oh, Charlie’s _Charlie_ ,” scoffs Bobby. “That’s different.”

“How?” wonders Dean. “You only found out she and Rufus knew each other through synagogue like… _months_ after the fact.”

“He’s just… _odder_ than Charlie,” says Bobby.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “ _Odder?_ Bobby, you know how that sounds, right?”

“Actually, he’s fairly perceptive,” remarks Castiel through a mouthful of onion rings.

Dean sighs. “Jimmy, you don’t have to take it.”

“And you don’t have to defend his honour,” cuts in John’s voice. His father raises his beer bottle at Castiel. “Jimmy’s a big boy, isn’t he? He can speak for himself.”

“He’s my guest,” hisses Dean. “I generally try not to subject my guests to family drama.”

“You’re the one causing drama right now, Dean,” warns John. He seems to take Dean’s angered speechlessness as an invitation to continue, because then he adds, “this night could’ve just been friends and family, you know, people we _all_ know, but no, you had to invite a _fan_ of yours.”

“John,” sighs Bobby, “not in front of everyone else.”

“I don’t know who he’s trying to impress,” scoffs John. “Seems like to me he’s just inflicting his ego on the rest of us.”

Dean’s not sure if it’s just the inevitable, or the alcohol, or the disdain obvious in the way his father said ‘fan’, but one minute he’s standing beside Castiel and the next he’s all but lunging for his father, beer spilling out of their bottles as he slams him against the wall.

“You apologise to Jimmy,” he hisses, just as Castiel pulls him back and Bobby puts himself in between the two of them. Dean can vaguely hear the other guests, but all of his anger is focused in sharp clarity at his father’s beer-soaked visage and alcohol-reddened smirk. 

“I think it’s time I took you home, old friend,” says Bobby, clapping John by the shoulder.

“Dean pushed me first,” John points out.

“You’re both idjits,” retorts Bobby, “but at least he had provocation.”

Castiel is still gripping Dean by the arm, calm emanating from his touch. Part of Dean wants to lean in, but as he watches Bobby escort his father out the door to his car, the anger boils back up and he throws Castiel’s hand off him before storming towards the back door.

“Where’re you going?” demands Sam’s voice.

“I need some air,” growls Dean, and slams the back door on his way out.

* * *

Lawrence Journal-World | _Obituaries_

**Mary Winchester **

Mary Winchester, 42, Lawrence, passed away November 2, 1996. Memorial services for her will be held November 9, 1996 at Plymouth Congregational Church, with private burial to follow. 

Born December 5, 1954 to Samuel and Deanna Campbell, Mary was a pillar of the community in Lawrence from a young age. She was a Girl Scout from 1964 to 1968, head cheerleader at Lawrence High School from 1970 to 1971, and valedictorian of the class of 1971. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Kansas in 1975; that same year she married fellow LHS graduate and former Marine John Winchester. They divorced after sixteen years of marriage. 

She is survived by her two sons, Dean and Samuel. She will be joining her parents in Heaven. 

The families suggest memorials in her name be made to either the University of Kansas Cancer Center or the Children of Letters Literacy Project. 

To plant memorial trees, please visit our Sympathy Store.

_Published in Lawrence Journal-World on November 4, 1996._

* * *

“Cooled your head yet, Dean-o?”

Dean looks up from the wad of snow he’d been mindlessly tossing. Jo is leaning against the railing of Bobby’s back porch, smiling beatifically at him. He chuckles, tosses the snow back into the drift, and rubs his hands together to regain some warmth.

“Haven’t heard that one in ages,” he says. 

“Scoot over,” replies Jo, moving to sit down on the steps beside him. Dean acquiesces, letting her lean her head on his shoulder from force of habit. 

“It’s been a while, huh,” he says. 

“What’s been a while?” she wonders.

“Since… this.” He gestures between them. “Us. You know.”

“Oh, you mean that time you, uh, took advantage of my idiotic crush and broke my heart afterwards?” wonders Jo sweetly, turning to smile daggers up at him. “Because, you know, that kinda entitles me to one free kick in your nuts.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not cashing that in tonight,” says Dean, chuckling.

“Yeah, well, I sure know how to choose ‘em.” Jo starts to fiddle with her scarf now, winding the tassels over and over in her fingers. “Morning after notwithstanding, you were one of my better bad decisions.”

“I’d been hearing little birdies say you’d moved on,” remarks Dean. 

Jo laughs. “Most of the time, those birdies would be true.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Most of the time?”

“Like about ninety-nine point five percent of the time.”

“And the other point five?”

“Well.” Jo takes his hands, idly tracing along the lines of his palms. “I catch myself thinking about alternate universes starring Jo Winchester, and then I destroy those alternate universes.”

Dean snorts. “You are a cruel goddess.”

“We all have mean streaks.” Jo sighs, squeezes his hand. “Some of us just try to minimise the collateral damage when it shows up.”

“You saying I don’t minimise collateral damage when I get mad?” wonders Dean.

“I’d say about the exact opposite, yeah.” Jo nods back towards the house. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, your dad’s not winning any Dad of the Year awards, ever. But just because he turned you into a ticking time bomb of bad emotions doesn’t mean you’re allowed to explode all over everyone else.” 

Dean would’ve retorted something to that, but the words die in his throat when he hears the back door open to admit someone else into their moment. 

“Dean, I do not understand this ‘carry-oakey’,” Castiel’s voice begs. Dean turns back to see the angel looking mildly distressed, an empty plate still clutched in his hands. “How do people know what to sing if it’s just the words on the screen?”

“Oh god, the Mom Squad broke out the karaoke,” mutters Jo. Sure enough, the sound of Mariah Carey drowned out under the louder cacophony of four drunken women warbles out from the living room. “I should probably go make sure they don’t set anything on fire.”

“On _fire_?” wheezes Castiel. Dean laughs, setting down his beer bottle on the patio table. 

“It’s a figure of speech,” he says. “Though, knowing Donna and Ellen, anything’s possible.”

Castiel shakily sets down his plate beside Dean’s bottle. “Are you alright, Dean?” he wonders. 

“Peachy,” says Dean, hopping down the steps into the backyard. “Come on, walk with me.” 

Uncle Bobby lives in a relatively wooded part of town, where the nearest neighbours are separated by a couple hundred feet of forest and fields. When they were younger, Dean and Sam would go with him down to the little creek deep in the woods to hunt and fish. 

Neither Dean nor Sam actually ever pulled the trigger on anything, though, but they made up for that by catching lightning bugs by the jarful in summer. Dean remembers how they’d been his first real encounter with death, as all those little stars that’d light up his and Sam’s bedroom would go out in a couple days’ time. 

Everything is impermanent. Those fireflies. His mother. Sam’s tenure in their house. And now, this _thing_ that glows so faintly deep inside him, this little ember in his heart that burns every time Castiel looks at him — this is impermanent, too. 

“There’s something so quiet about winter,” remarks Castiel after a moment. “It feels like the world is just holding its breath.”

“Yeah, that’d be everything dead or dormant under the snow,” says Dean. “In the summer you can’t hear yourself think over the frogs and the crickets.” 

Castiel hums. “You’ve grown up here your entire life,” he notes.

“Never had reason to leave,” admits Dean. “Mom left me the house when she passed; I had a decent job with Bobby at his garage before I started Team Free Will; my channel pays for all of my adventures. Sammy’s the one who keeps trying to run away.”

“Yet he still comes back.”

“Doesn’t make the leaving suck less.” 

Castiel doesn’t say anything to that. Dean notes, with some satisfaction, that the angel is wearing the gloves he’d bought him. He pulls out his own and puts them on, before grabbing a snowball from a nearby drift and beaning Castiel in the head with it.

“Dean, what —” begins Castiel, turning only to get smacked in the face with Dean’s second snowball. The angel splutters for a moment, before quickly summoning a barrage of snowballs in retaliation.

“Hey! Rule one!” protests Dean, laughing nonetheless. 

“There’s no one else here,” retorts Castiel, snapping his fingers. A nearby branch dumps all of its snow onto Dean, briefly knocking him off-balance. 

“Now that’s just unfair, you son of a bitch,” he declares. Castiel shrugs, skipping away from his next volley. “Come back here, Cas —”

His foot catches on a tree root, causing him to stumble forward and knock Castiel down with him for the second time that day. Unfortunately, this time they’re at the top of a small hill, so the two of them tumble down the slope together until they come to a stop beneath a towering, bare oak. 

It takes Dean a couple minutes to catch his breath. His legs are aching, his head is spinning, but nothing can beat the thunderous pounding of his heart. The entire thing is pounding against his ribcage so hard that he fears it might burst out of him like the alien in that one movie, and Castiel’s proximity isn’t doing it any favours. 

“Cas?” he manages weakly. The angel’s face swims into view. His body is solid and heavy against Dean’s, and just behind his head floats a halo of a too-familiar bush. 

_Mistletoe. Of course._

Dean could get out of this pretty easily. Castiel probably doesn’t know the tradition. And even if he did, he’s not the one looking directly at the plant. And even if he had seen it, Dean could still easily invoke rule three. 

_Keep it friendly._

The ember in his heart wants otherwise. 

“Dean,” breathes Castiel, his hands cupping Dean’s cheeks. “Are you hurt?”

Dean smiles, smashes another snowball up into Castiel’s face. “Never felt better,” he jokes, as the angel doggedly shakes the snow out of his eyes.

It’s just tradition. He doesn’t have to do it. And even if he did, it doesn’t have to mean anything.

He reaches up, brushes the remaining snowflakes off the angel’s face. Castiel’s cheek is prickly from his scruff and cool like his fingers. His eyes are wide when Dean pulls back to look at him. In the quiet winter darkness, the only things that seem to matter are the beating of their hearts. 

“What was that for?” wonders Castiel as he clambers to his feet and helps Dean up. Dean points above him to the branches covered in mistletoe, and claps him on the shoulder.

“Holiday tradition,” he says. 

“Fascinating,” mutters Castiel, gingerly rubbing the spot where Dean had kissed him. “Shall — shall we return to the party?”

“Yeah.” Dean gestures for Castiel to lead the way, before shoving his hands into the chill of his jacket pockets and secretly wishing for another hand to hold.

* * *

_Excerpt from “GhostHunters ep 10: The Disappearance of Anna Milton”:_

**SAM:** So, you believe her?  
 **DEAN:** That she’s an angel? No, I don’t think angels exist. But if she wasn’t hurting anyone with her belief, why lock her up and try to exorcise her?  
 **SAM:** Because people who think they’re angels or talking to angels tend to be a bit cuckoo for cocoa puffs?  
 **DEAN:** I’m just saying it’s not that surprising she escaped the loony bin.  
 **SAM:** I still think they offed her and just pretended she got raptured.  
 **DEAN** : It’s always the murder theory with you, isn’t it?

* * *

By the time they get back to Uncle Bobby’s, it’s nearing midnight and Charlie has made it at last.

“Sorry I’m late; Rufus was being more cantankerous about Christmas than usual,” she’s saying as Dean and Castiel step back into the house, stomping the snow off of their shoes on the back porch. “Usually by the time Hans Gruber falls off the tower he’s been knocked out by his own whiskey, but he managed to stay awake the entire time this year.” 

“He was more than welcome to watch it here,” grumbles Bobby. “We’d have made some of those potato pancakes for him if he wanted.”

“You know him,” says Charlie, popping open a bottle of beer and settling in next to Jo on the sofa in the living room. The Mom Squad have drifted into the dining room for a game of poker, but when Dean pokes his head in he can see Ellen passed out with her head in Deputy Hanscum’s lap.

Deputy Hanscum catches his eye and puts a finger to her lips, before grabbing a lipstick from her purse and starting to doodle on Ellen’s face. Sheriff Mills snorts and rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, he’s a pissy old sonuvabitch even when he’s sober,” says Bobby, turning to see Dean and Castiel. “Oh good, we were about to send out a search party for you two. What took you so long? Were you making out?”

“No!” say both Dean and Castiel at the same time. Bobby, Jo, and Charlie all raise their eyebrows at that.

“Sounds sus,” says Charlie, winking at them. 

“Where’s Sam?” asks Dean, more to change the subject than anything else.

“He and Eileen ducked out already,” says Bobby. “Something about a private present exchange, or whatever the kids are calling it these days.”

“Ugh, forget I asked,” mutters Dean, grimacing. “I see that the Mom Squad didn’t succeed in burning down the house, so, uh, good job, Jo.”

“It’s past Karen’s bedtime.” Bobby chuckles. “Anyone know where the New Years party will be this year?”

“Mom wants to volunteer the bar,” says Jo. “More space, more merriment. Plus lots of screens for watching the ball drop.”

“Ball drop?” echoes Castiel, looking quizzically at Dean.

Dean chuckles. “Times Square in New York,” he explains. “A couple hours ahead of us, but still a good tradition.”

“Ah.” Castiel nods. “And I would be invited to this party at the bar, too?”

“Well, duh,” says Jo. “Any friend of Dean’s channel is a friend of ours.” 

“Well, it’s getting to my bedtime, too,” declares Bobby. “The rest of y’all idjits can stay as long as you don’t trash the place, got it?”

“Roger that,” says Charlie, raising her beer in salute.

“Merry Christmas, Bobby,” adds Jo and Dean. The older man waves it off, before heading back to the dining room to fetch his wife. 

“So,” says Jo as soon Bobby and Mrs Singer’s footsteps recede up the stairs, “any updates on Stevie?”

“We’ve texted a little,” says Charlie, making a face as she takes another swig of beer. “Maybe we’ll meet for New Year’s Eve. She might be working that night, though.”

“Well, I can talk to Mom about giving her the night off to enjoy the party,” says Jo, winking. Charlie playfully shoves her shoulder.

“I’m sorry that I’m dragging my heels so much on this,” she admits, “but I keep worrying about what might happen if I mess it up. I mean —” she sighs, “she works for you guys, I’m sorta your friend… if something goes wrong, it’s like a domino chain of weird.”

“Stevie’s a big girl,” says Jo. “What or who she does in her free time isn’t my or my mom’s business.” 

“Yeah, but…” Charlie trails off, nodding towards Dean. “It’s happened before.”

“We’ve kinda worked that out,” remarks Jo, looking at Dean as well.

“Water under the bridge,” agrees Dean. It feels a bit like a lie, fabricated just for the holidays, but as long as Jo was the one who started it, Dean won’t question it either.

“Charlie,” ventures Castiel, “what is it that you really want?”

Charlie scrunches her nose. “A girlfriend?” 

“Do you want that specific bartender, or do you just want to enter the new year a little less lonely?” 

_(Do you want this specific angel, or do you just want to spend Christmas a little less lonely?)_

“Would it be rude if I said it was a little bit of both?” wonders Charlie. 

Castiel sighs. “You don’t know her very well right now, so that’s natural, isn’t it? You can’t read her mind or know all of her fears and hopes. You’re not G-d.”

“Yeah, that would be pretty presumptuous,” agrees Charlie, chuckling.

“And because you’re not G-d, you’re not going to learn about _any_ of those things unless you make the effort to get to know her better. And you won’t get the chance to know her better if you don’t make the effort to meet with her.”

“I don’t want to give her the wrong idea,” protests Charlie. “You know, with her being my fan and all.”

Castiel nods. “I won’t pretend that I know about any of that,” he says. “Or that I’m some sort of expert on human relationships. But in my admittedly limited experience, it seems that all you have to do is to approach them at the same level.”

The ember inside Dean is the warmest it’s ever been all night. He vaguely wonders if it’s heartburn instead. 

“So, not as Twitch streamer MoonQueen and her adoring fan,” supplies Jo helpfully, “but as Charlie and Stevie, fellow human beings.”

“Yeah, what’s the worst that can happen? She sees your Princess Leia straddling a D20 tattoo and runs screaming for the hills?” teases Dean. 

Charlie laughs at that. “That _would_ be the worst,” she agrees. “Guess you’re right, Jimmy. Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime,” says Castiel, offering her a thumbs up. Dean yawns, in spite of himself, and the angel is back at his side almost immediately, taking his arm. “Dean, perhaps it’s time we went back to your place.”

“Yes, Dean, you should take your friend home,” says Jo slyly, winking at him. “You’re good to drive, right?”

“I’m fine,” scoffs Dean, “and even if I weren’t, I could get home from here in my sleep.”

“You probably have,” agrees Jo. “Drive safe.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” adds Charlie.

Dean shakes his head, but leads Castiel out of Uncle Bobby’s house back to his car. The cold night air wakes him back up, and off in the distance a church bell is ringing.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” remarks Castiel as Dean unlocks the Impala’s doors. Dean pauses, looking up at the tapestry of stars in the night sky. 

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” he agrees. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

**DeanWatchchester**

**antifadam:** who’s the new dude showing up in all of dw’s socmed today?  
 **sink_or_swim:** one of the harvelles bartenders said he’s a friend of the channel  
 **samlicker81:** family friend?  
 **kissmekate:** apparently he won a fan raffle  
 **fr3will:** What fan raffle? He would’ve at least opened it to his patrons, and I definitely didn’t get any notifs about that.  
 **losechesters:** imagine winning a raffle to spend christmas with dean winchester. there’s gotta be a fic on wattpad with that exact premise  
 **ducksontrucks:** “this is the story of how dean winchester bought me” lmao  
 **johnson_hackles_hexy_hacting_hoices:** not to be tinfoil hat on main but what if they said that as a coverup for a boyfriend  
 **antifadam:** !!!!  
 **damielberetta:** that’s so unlikely. compels me though  
 **ducksontrucks:** but there’s no evidence he’s even thought about being anything other than straighty mcheteroman??  
 **johnson_hackles_hexy_hacting_hoices:** yeah which is why he’d lie out his ass about having a secret boyfriend  
 **damielberetta:** damn @johnson_hackles_hexy_hacting_hoices you’re really opening my third eye here

* * *

The drive back home is the longest it’s ever been. Dean feels like he’s caught in some strange emotional purgatory, a liminal space between friendship and relationship where every move Castiel makes in the passenger seat sears itself into Dean’s consciousness. 

The silence between them is filled only with the Christmas music filtering out of the radio. Castiel leans his head against the window, the golden streetlights bathing his face in a deep golden glow. Each passing shadow of a tree or building seems to linger behind him like wings.

This emotional purgatory is uncharted territory for Dean. While he’s acknowledged a long while ago that it was entirely possible for him to be attracted to men, knowing that in theory isn’t quite the same as experiencing it in practice. Nothing ever came of his thing for his professor, after all, and he’s just generally more comfortable remaining in familiar courtship cycles with reasonably attractive women. _Stick to what you know. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it._

Rule three was there for a reason. Rule three was supposed to protect both of them, insure that their common interests weren’t completely fucked over by emotional entanglements. Castiel was meant to be his friend for the holidays, nothing more.

 _Fuck rule three,_ his traitorous brain screams. _The other two rules got broken, too, so why not this one? You even_ wanted _to kiss him back there in the woods._

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice breaks through his thoughts, jerks him back to the present. They’re already back in his garage, and the angel’s concern makes him look more adorable than he should. “We’re home.”

Dean Winchester is immediately ashamed of how much he wants to hear Castiel say that again, forever.

“Yeah,” he rasps, clambering out of the Impala. A cursory glance at the empty driveway tells him Sam must have gone to Eileen’s again. They have the entire house to themselves. “Just a sec.”

The garage door is loud and obnoxious and awkward in its creaky descent. Dean almost feels like warning Castiel that this is his last chance to run. Who knows what stupid thing will come tumbling out of his mouth next. 

“You look tired,” Castiel offers as they head back inside. Dean hangs up his jacket immediately, and then helps the angel out of his trench coat. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Would’ve had less if someone didn’t refill my bottle every time,” remarks Dean, smiling in spite of himself. He heads to the kitchen, crosses to the fridge, and contemplates its contents. “We didn’t get to have the pies I made today,” he notes suddenly, a little disappointed.

“You mean, this pie?” wonders Castiel, producing a tupperware container out of seemingly nowhere. Dean opens it to see one of the carefully-latticed apple pies he and Mrs Singer had made this afternoon, already sliced up for their convenience.

“Son of a bitch,” he whistles. “Where were you hiding this?”

“Miracles happen,” replies Castiel innocently. 

Dean laughs, and then goes to fetch plates, forks, and a tub of vanilla ice cream. “Midnight pies it is, then. You want some?”

“Sure.” Castiel sits down at the kitchen table, loading each plate with a slice of pie as Dean fights with the ice cream tub for a couple generous scoops. “Where did you learn to make these?”

“My mom and Mrs Singer,” says Dean. “Baking’s a science, you know.”

Castiel hums, and takes a bite of his slice. “Dean, this is heaven.”

“Considering where you come from, I’ll take that as high praise.” Dean smiles over his own forkful. The pie could do with a little warming, but even as-is it’s quite delicious. “This one’s actually my mom’s recipe.” 

“Mm.” Dean didn’t know it was possible for angels to make obscene noises. The ones being made by Castiel as he eats the pie are going right to a very uncomfortable place. He shifts in his seat, busying himself with his own slice until there’s nothing but a puddle of melted vanilla-covered crumbs scraped over white porcelain.

“Cas,” he says, and the angel looks up at him, blue eyes soft in the kitchen light, and — “you’ve got a bit of vanilla right —” he licks his thumb, wiping the offending smudge from the corner of Castiel’s mouth, “ _there_.”

Rule three was a wall constructed to freeze them apart, and right now it’s melting just as fast as the ice cream had. Castiel bites his lip — are angels even _allowed_ to do that? — and well, that had to be the final straw.

Dean all but tackles Castiel out of their chairs, and to his surprise and delight, the angel _kisses back_. It’s a bit of nose-bumping and teeth-clashing at first, but they quickly figure it out after that, and, _god_ , heaven is _exactly_ as it says on the tin.

“Dean,” gasps Castiel as they part, eyes shining and cheeks flushed, “we could do this in a better location.”

“Oh, _hell_ yeah,” mutters Dean, and all but pulls Castiel up the stairs to his room.

Part of him is fully aware of how ridiculous this situation is. He’s kissing an _angel of the Lord_ in his _childhood bedroom_. But if Castiel isn’t objecting, then he won’t, either. Castiel’s lips are still sweet with apple pie and vanilla ice cream, yet his fingers tangle so fiercely in the hairs at Dean’s nape. He kisses with all the promise of heaven, but the way he moves against Dean is almost damnation. 

“This feels wicked, somehow,” he breathes, as Castiel slams him against the wall and mouths a line of kisses down his neck to his collar. “Like, theoretically I’m sure tempting an angel is wrong, but in practice I can’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“If you’re wicked, then so am I,” replies Castiel seriously, his voice muffled against Dean’s flannel shirt, “and _that’s_ impossible.”

“Never say never,” remarks Dean, before tugging Castiel in by his tie for another kiss. He pulls further, unravelling the tie and throwing it aside before moving to the buttons of Castiel’s shirt, undoing them with only a little bit of fumbling. He’s more used to blouses, after all. 

It’s only when he’s undone the last button when he pauses and notices that Castiel has frozen. The angel’s breathing is shallow, his grip white-knuckled against Dean’s flannel shirt. Dean’s stomach, which had been fluttering and warm this entire time, suddenly swoops into an unpleasant nosedive. 

“Cas?” he ventures, hesitant, foreboding. “Is — is everything alright?”

Castiel blinks rapidly, takes a shuddering breath. “Are… are you doing this because you want to be with me, or because you don’t want to be lonely this Christmas?”

“What kind of question is that?” wonders Dean. “You know full well I’ve been attracted to you from the start. Do you want this or not?”

“I want you,” replies Castiel. “But not this.”

Dean doesn’t know how three words could feel like a bucket of cold water right to his heart, and yet here they are. “I don’t get it,” he says. “You want me, and I want you. What more do you need? Dinner and a movie? Flowers and jewelry? Or — you’re an angel; you’re probably saving it for marriage, huh? Or do you even _have_ the requisite parts?”

“This vessel is human,” says Castiel simply. “Thus, it is susceptible to the wants and needs of the flesh.” 

“What does that even mean? That you’re fully functional and anatomically correct, and I’m just here to scratch your human itch?”

“No, Dean, listen to me.” Castiel’s voice is harder, almost brittle. “I am not a thing to be toyed with and dismissed once I have served my purpose. You cannot treat me like you have treated so many of the women in your past.” _Like Jo,_ his gaze adds. Dean flinches like he’s been burnt. 

“Why, because you’re better than them?” he mutters.

“No, because no one deserves it,” replies Castiel. “Your flings aren’t short-lived because you don’t know how to make them last. They’re short lived because you don’t think you deserve things that last.”

He reaches for Dean, but Dean is already recoiling, stepping away from Castiel as if the increased distance will make the words hurt less. “Get out,” he says. 

“Dean —” begins Castiel, his expression pained, but Dean merely opens the door for him. 

“You can see yourself out,” he growls.

Castiel doesn’t need telling twice. Silently, swiftly, the angel re-buttons his shirt and picks up his tie. At the threshold, he turns back to look at Dean, his eyes a little bit shinier than usual. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says.

Dean slams the door in his face. He hears a fluttering noise in the hallway, and when he opens the door again, Castiel is gone. 

And when he goes downstairs, the only things that suggest the angel had ever been there are the two empty plates in the sink, and the beige trench coat next to his own jacket. 


	3. wings of desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is mildly OOC because I might have combined him with Good Omens!Gabriel (whoops). There's some other mild references to Good Omens, too.
> 
> Basically I've thrown out like most of SPN and remade the world to my taste, and my taste is Good Omens-esque Angel bureaucracy. Whoops.
> 
> Merry New Year; please enjoy!

Posted by u/angelwithashotgun • 1 day ago

AITA for telling the guy I have feelings for that he’s broken?

I (47M) met this guy (41M) as part of an arrangement where I would be his guest and friend at a family holiday party. I won’t pretend to know what motivated him to ask this of me; I just went along with it. Long story short, though, we ended up developing romantic feelings during the course of the night and it culminated in a lot of kissing back at his place. It was very nice, except I had this feeling that he was just going to use me like he did with his ex (35F), so I stopped everything and tried to tell him that he couldn’t do that to me. In the heat of things I might have told him that his past relationships were all short-lived because he didn’t think he deserved things that lasted, and he told me to get out. 

I mean, I understand why he told me to leave, but I still feel like he deserved to know this truth about himself so he won’t hurt other people in the future. So, AITA? 

** 153 Comments Share Save Hide Report **

arosiehaze 142 points • 15 hrs ago  
ESH. I wish I could say N T A, because I know you mean well, but people need time to accept their own flaws. If you straight-up tell someone they have issues, it’s not gonna go well. I’d be a bit more subtle about it next time. Hope it works out!

elisedabeast 90 points • 20 hrs ago  
how did you know about his ex if you’d only met him that day? YTA, at LEAST for getting way too invested in his personal life during a make out sesh.

angelwithashotgun 12 points • 19 hrs ago  
I overheard them talking about it at the party since she’s a family friend. 

**28 more replies**

hearseire 87 points • 5 hrs ago  
ESH. I would say N T A bc I believe people should be called out on their bullshit but TPO, man

sinkingorswimming 35 points • 4 hrs ago  
ESH here too, but I’d also argue N A H because ultimately it’s poorly-timed communication issues.

ebbehmoth 14 points • 3 hrs ago  
An ESH from me too. Not the time to say that, OP

**4 more replies**

* * *

Castiel falls in love on a Thursday. 

He supposes that’s fitting, considering that he’s the Angel of Thursdays, but when he’d originally been assigned to watch over this patch of the Earth he hadn’t anticipated such an occurrence. To angels, love had always been one of those abstract, godly concepts: God is love, but all of that love was reserved more for humanity than angelkind. 

Service, instead, was a far more tangible thing. As representations of the love God had for humanity, Angels were sent to serve. And Castiel was no different. 

“What’s so special about him?” Gabriel, his brother, wonders as Castiel watches a video of a certain black Chevy Impala tearing down the back roads of Lawrence, Kansas. “He’s just a hairless ape. A funny one, sure, but there’s a billion other funny ones out there.”

Castiel pulls up another video. Dean Winchester’s beaming face greets them, followed by a long spiel about how he and his brother were planning to communicate with a crossroads demon named Crowley under a haunted freeway overpass. The video ends with Sam Winchester calling Crowley a coward for not showing up, and Dean Winchester laughing with his brother but keeping one hand on a water pistol full of holy water the entire time. Castiel smiles, in spite of himself. 

“You know, if you show up in one of their videos you might have a chance to break the Internet,” remarks Gabriel. 

“Dean doesn’t believe in angels,” says Castiel, pulling up the relevant video. “He thinks Anna was just a crazy woman.”

“All the more reason to blow his hairless ape mind,” says Gabriel, rolling his eyes. “These two fools don’t realise it’s our efforts down there that keep them safe from all the stuff they talk about in their Ghostbusters videos. Honestly, Muggles will believe anything we tell them.” 

What Gabriel doesn’t understand, of course, is that Castiel doesn’t watch Team Free Will’s videos because the content itself is accurate or even compelling. He watches them because, well, _free will_. Nothing in the known Universe encapsulates such a concept as beautifully as Dean Winchester. 

Castiel falls in love on a Thursday, in a pristine white cubicle in Heaven, smiling over a video of a dirty-blond, salt-of-the-earth, All-American man running around his hometown asking people about their opinions of the local public restrooms. 

He falls to Earth — or rather, writes himself a flimsy field pass to access the down escalator — on a Wednesday morning. It’s the day before Christmas Eve, he’s looking sharp in one of his favourite vessels, and his plan is to answer Dean Winchester’s half-baked, full-drunk plea for assistance.

The entire plan falls apart within the span of 48 hours.

* * *

“Holy frak, Jimmy, what happened?” 

Charlie is in a Star Wars dressing gown when she answers the door. It’s late, obviously, and Castiel feels bad for imposing, but he needs human assistance to slice open the Gordian knot of feelings in his stomach, and Charlie seemed the best-qualified of Dean’s friends to understand the quirks of this situation. 

“I… hopefully I won’t take too much of your time,” he says. “I have a dilemma.”

“And it involves Dean, doesn’t it?” asks Charlie. She clucks her tongue in sympathy. “Knew this would happen sooner rather than later. Bobby owes me five bucks.”

Castiel suspects he should feel offended by the implication that Dean’s friends were making bets on this, but at this point he’s too drained to care. Charlie steps back to let him in, and he slumps over to the couch almost as soon as he sees it. 

“Do you need tea?” she wonders. 

“I need you to listen,” replies Castiel, folding his hands in his lap. Charlie takes a seat in the armchair across from the couch, and Castiel lies down like he remembers seeing in all the TV shows about psychiatrists, and tells her everything. 

“Wow,” is all Charlie says after he’s done. “That’s… I have no words, actually.”

“None?” wonders Castiel.

“I mean, given what I know about Dean, I’d have thought the last thing he’d ever do is get caught up in a fanfiction-level romantic entanglement, but stranger things have happened.”

“Yes,” agrees Castiel. “For one, I’m not actually called Jimmy.” Charlie raises an eyebrow, so he continues, “I’m actually an angel. Named Castiel.”

(All the other rules have been broken, so why not this one, too?)

Charlie raises her other eyebrow. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”

“I fail to understand what I should be pulling.”

Charlie chuckles. “An angel, huh? That does explain your encyclopaedic knowledge of angel rom-coms. But then how were you so bad at answering questions about the whole Jesus incident?”

“The truth is not always as well-preserved as you think,” replies Castiel.

“Yeah, that tracks.” Charlie chuckles, rubbing at her temples. “So, now what? You got a halo, he’s got daddy issues a mile long — how’re you gonna fix things?”

 _Do you even_ want _to fix it?_ hangs in the air between them. Castiel sighs. 

“I apologise for keeping you awake longer than you should be,” he says. “Angels don’t require sleep, so I can leave. Go wait in a park or something.”

“Forget that, you can wait on my couch,” declares Charlie. “Until you figure out your shit with Dean, you can stay here instead. I promise I won’t inflict too much of my taste in movies on you.”

“How can I repay you?” asks Castiel. 

Charlie grins. “No need to! But I wouldn’t complain if you fixed my carpal tunnel or something.”

“Here.” Castiel holds out a hand. When Charlie shakes it, he reaches out with his grace and performs a little miracle. The way her eyes light up makes his own exhaustion worth it.

“Man, I know Dean has first dibs once you both get your acts together, but if he continues to screw the pooch, I’ll take you instead,” she declares. “You could be my beard, get my old foster mom off my back about all the nice Jewish boys I left behind in Chicago.”

“What is it with you and Dean and the need to perform for your parents?” wonders Castiel.

“Sometimes the people closest to us are the most willfully blind about our true selves,” replies Charlie, rising to her feet with a yawn. “Good night, Cas. Help yourself to my Netflix, but keep the sound down.” 

And with that, she pads away to bed, and Castiel is left perched on a bright yellow suede sofa with only the memory of Dean’s kisses to keep him company.

* * *

Angels also have no real need to eat or drink, but Castiel goes to Harvelle’s Bar for the onion rings anyway. 

He’d heard rumours, years ago, about an old colleague who’d been assigned to London and had picked up a lifestyle of culinary hedonism. _Overexposure to humans will do that to you,_ Gabriel had mentioned with a cluck of his tongue. _But don’t worry, Cassie, we’ll take care of it._

(Gabriel does not, in fact, take care of it. Castiel never got the full story, but his brother makes it a point to Never Mention the Incident in London ever again, and Castiel knows better than to pry.)

“I do so love happy endings,” says Jo as she plops down in the booth across from Castiel with a basket of onion rings and a beer, nodding towards the bar where Charlie and Stevie are in deep conversation. “I hope they can find something that works for them.”

The intersection of two human beings is already a dangerous, complicated situation. Castiel can only imagine it gets worse at the intersection of angel and human.

“You… and Dean,” he begins, hesitatingly. Jo raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t seem to want to shut down the conversation, so he takes that as encouragement to continue. “Why him?”

“I ask myself that a lot, to be honest.” Jo chuckles, takes one of his onion rings. “I mean — we practically grew up together. He was the coolest guy I’d ever known. Most older boys didn’t bother giving a shit about their younger brothers, but Dean basically raised Sam. His parents’ divorce cost them their mother, and their dad was more interested in his work than being a dad, so those two really spent a lot of time looking out for each other because the rest of us could only do so much.”

Castiel remembers Dean Winchester’s file back Upstairs. There’d been a string of shoplifting in his earlier teens, years of slipping grades, a medium-weight wrestling championship. Somehow he’d emerged from this crucible as the driving force behind Team Free Will, a whirlwind of freedom and bad ideas that had captivated Castiel all the way up in Heaven. 

“I had a lot of half-baked ideas about love when I was younger,” continues Jo. “And I’d thought for a very long time that maybe he was my soulmate or something. That maybe he’d been brought into my life as a long-time friend because we were meant to take it slow, that he was meant to wake up one morning after we’d long since moved in together and realise he loved me. It was a story that made sense to me, you know? Beauty and the Beast, and all of that.”

“But he didn’t do that,” states Castiel.

“He made my dreams come true for one night and one night only,” agrees Jo. “And it took me several years to realise the story in my head wasn’t always the same as the one being written in real life.”

Castiel thinks about his own plans, about his own half-baked excuse to come down to Earth and insert himself in the life of his favourite YouTuber. “And how did you move on?”

Jo raises an eyebrow. “From a man like Dean Winchester?” 

She reaches across the table, takes his hand. Castiel marvels at how warm her fingers are compared to his own. 

“You give it time. In the end, you’ll heal, but it won’t be him who heals you, and you’ll have to accept that. For a man who hates being alone as much as he does, he’s really good at driving people away.”

“I was the one who hurt him,” admits Castiel. “It was… pre-emptive.”

Jo smirks. “The pettiest little voice inside me is cheering for you.”

At that moment, Ash calls for Jo to come help him with decorating. “It’s for the New Year’s party,” Jo explains as she climbs out of the booth. Castiel immediately moves to join her. “No — Jimmy, you don’t need to. Finish your onion rings and the beer.” 

“I can make things easier,” says Castiel, and snaps his fingers. The decorations in Ash’s box immediately fly out and position themselves all around. A couple additional garlands of gold tinsel appear out of nowhere to festoon the top shelf behind the bar.

“Holy shit,” says Jo, looking at Castiel with something between awe and respect. “Dean’s a fucking moron for letting you leave.”

Almost as if on cue, the bell above the front door tinkles. Castiel sees who it is, and — in spite of himself — panics. 

“Jimmy?” wonders Jo, looking straight through him before turning to face Dean Winchester himself as he stomps off the snow from his boots. “Speak of the devil. Dean, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I — I thought Jimmy —” stammers Dean for a moment, before he recovers and holds out Castiel’s beige coat. “Jimmy left this at my place. I thought maybe he’d be here getting his onion ring fix.”

Castiel looks over at the basket of rings at his booth. Dean has him pegged there, it seems.

“Well, he just left,” says Jo, crossing her arms and scrutinising him. Dean raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“Did — did he mention anything? About me?”

“What do you think this is, a chick flick set in middle school?” wonders Jo drily.

“Look, I don’t want any fuss or nonsense,” grumbles Dean, crossing over to Castiel’s booth and dropping the trench coat on the seat. “If he comes back, tell him I returned his coat, alright?”

“Again, do you think this is a chick flick?” demands Jo, stomping over and shoving the coat back into his hands. “No one’s leaving anyone anything. You find Jimmy in person and you hand it back to him like a grown-ass man.”

For a moment, Dean looks as if he’s going to argue with Jo about it. Then he deflates, takes the coat, and stomps back out the door. Castiel finally exhales, startling Jo when she turns around to see him again. 

“You’re just as bad as he is,” she says, shaking her head. Castiel sits down in his booth and drags the basket of rings back.

“I’ll see him later,” he says. “He needs more time than he thinks he does.”

* * *

Castiel finds John Winchester fishing by the little creek behind Bobby’s place. “I know you’re here,” the other man says, idly reeling in his line as Castiel approaches. “You might as well show yourself. There’s no fish to scare.”

“If there’s no fish, then why come out here at all?” wonders Castiel.

“It’s a ritual,” replies John simply, looking out at the wintry landscape. The snow is thawing a little in some parts, and the creek still flows with shards of ice. Castiel finds the gloves Dean had bought him in the pockets of his trousers and puts them on, feeling no discernible difference. “During the week, I work. During the weekends, I fish. Or hunt. Something to keep my hands busy. A task that needs to be finished.”

Castiel hums, watching the man cast his line back into the half-frozen brook once more.

“There’s many things I’ve never had the opportunity to tell my boys,” says John after another moment of silence. “And many things I deliberately withheld. At the time I thought I was doing the right thing, hiding the truth, letting them hold onto certain… certain beliefs.” 

Castiel reaches out with his grace, and something in the water tugs at John’s fishing line. The man’s eyes widen, and he scrambles to reel out a little fish. After packing the fish in the cooler, John turns to scrutinise Castiel for a moment before casting his line again. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this,” he admits. “You probably have no love for me, since you’re such a fan of Dean.”

“Dean has said nothing about you on his channel,” says Castiel. 

“He hasn’t? Stupid boy. He has every right. I know I wasn’t very involved with him or Sam at all. It was always work, work, work. You gotta make money. Gotta pay the mortgage. Gotta pay the bills. Give the missus some extra for groceries and treats for the boys. She went to Dean’s wrestling matches, Sammy’s violin recitals. They always loved her more than they loved me, and after a while I guess I just took that for granted.”

“And then you took them from her?” wonders Castiel.

“Certain beliefs,” repeats John. He reels in another fish. “By the time the doctors found the cancer inside her it was too late. It was her idea to walk away. She didn’t want the boys seeing her dying.”

Castiel remembers the day Mary Winchester went Upstairs. He’d run into her himself on his way back from break, and she’d looked into all his eyes and wings without a single ounce of fear. 

(“You’re the one who’s been watching over my sons,” she’d said, before her Reaper came to usher her along to the more habitable part of Heaven. “Thank you!” she’d called back, just before vanishing through the door.) 

“All these years, and you never found the time to tell your sons the truth,” remarks Castiel. “Or to break yourself from your old rituals and habits.” 

“I’m proud of them,” agrees John. “And I can think that all I want. I can feel it with every bone in my body, down to my very soul. But because I was the one who broke them, every time I see them we just fall back into old habits, old cycles. That’s how love works in this house. It’s felt, but it’s never said.”

It’s a confession, like that of a penitent sinner before God. Castiel is not God, but something in John must have recognised the grace in him. Castiel kneels down, touches the two fish lying in the cooler, and causes them to multiply. 

John inhales sharply. “What are you?” he asks, eyes narrowed. 

“I can’t force you to change,” says Castiel, looking up at him simply. He slowly rises, and John takes a couple steps back. “You have to really want it. If you really want that cycle broken, you can’t wait on your sons to fix it. You need to do it yourself.” 

There’s a ghost of Dean in the cut of John’s jaw, in the stoniness of his silence. “Yes, sir,” he says, stiff salute and all. 

Castiel leaves him standing by the side of the creek.

* * *

“How did you find this place?” asks Eileen as Sam lets Castiel into the apartment. Castiel flaps his hands at shoulder height and winks at her. Eileen raises an eyebrow. 

“I came to check on you,” replies Castiel. “And to invite you to the New Year’s Eve party at Harvelle’s Bar tomorrow.”

“Ash already emailed us all an Evite,” says Sam. Eileen sends him a look, and he adds on, “but an in-person invitation is even better, actually. More… personal.”

“How are you?” adds Eileen, gesturing towards the sofa. Castiel sits down, and Sam pours him a glass of cucumber mint-infused water. Castiel takes it with a nod of thanks. “How is Dean?”

“I have not actually seen him for a couple days,” confesses Castiel. 

“Dean did mention you abruptly left after the party,” says Sam. “Is — are you okay? Did something happen between you two?”

“It’s nothing,” says Castiel. The lie burns at him. He suppresses a wince by taking a sip of the infused water. 

Sam’s brows furrow. “Well, if your _arrangement_ is basically over, don’t you have… other places to be?” 

“There’s still some unfinished business,” replies Castiel vaguely. “Have you… heard from your father recently? Or,” he looks at Eileen, “the university?”

Eileen pauses, and then goes wide-eyed at him. “The email?” she wonders. “That was you?”

“University admin is offering her tenure and a commitment to lessen her workload by hiring more disabled faculty,” explains Sam. 

Castiel smiles. “That’s good to hear.”

“So, was that you?” asks Eileen.

“The offer comes from the university,” replies Castiel. “I just had some enlightening conversations with the right people. Miracles last longer when they come from humans.”

“Wow.” Sam looks at Eileen, who shakes a splayed hand in agreement. “Thanks, Cas. I — how can we possibly repay you?”

“No need,” says Castiel. “It is part of my work.”

“And when will your work be done?” wonders Sam. “I mean, you told me and Dean you’d be here until New Year’s. What comes after that?”

Castiel has honestly not given much thought to what he’d do after New Year’s. He knows the mechanics — his pass expires, he returns to Heaven, he goes back to the eternal routine of filing Heavenly paperwork. Chances are, given all the havoc he’s wreaked over the past few days, he’s going to be reassigned to a different part of Earth in the next administrative shuffle. 

Time for Angels has no clear marker. It might be years until his next field assignment. It might even be centuries. There’s no guarantee that, the next time he descends, this town or these people will even be there. 

Tomorrow is his last day on Earth with Dean. The sudden reminder of this fact causes a strange tightness in his vessel’s chest. 

“Cas?” wonders Sam, reaching for him. “What’s wrong?”

“My time here is almost done,” replies Castiel, looking at them. At these two frail, wonderful humans and all the love they have for one another. For a moment, he envies them. Envies them not only for their place in God’s heart, not only for the peace that will be granted them when they finally pass on, not only for their capacities to desire and savour — but also for their proximity to Dean Winchester. “And when it is, I might not be able to come back, ever.”

Eileen moves her hand like a question mark, eyebrows raised. Castiel nods. 

“Never,” he confirms. “Or at least, not in your lifetime. Upper management can’t afford us making emotional attachments. It’s like grit in a microscope.”

“No offense, Cas, but I think the boat’s already sailed on that one for you,” remarks Sam. 

“Perhaps,” agrees Castiel. “But time will heal all wounds. Where humans are concerned, I have learnt to accept impermanence.” 

This little town and its people are like fireflies caught in Castiel’s jar, and come tomorrow night, he’ll have to release them. 

But in the meantime, he sits on yet another couch in yet another apartment, and soaks in the last dredges of human life for as long as he can.

* * *

Harvelle’s is lively once again when Castiel steps in with Charlie for the New Year’s Eve party. She is immediately whisked off by Stevie, leaving him alone to stake his claim over his usual booth.

“Jimmy! You’re here!” Jo is immediately there, this time providing a flute of champagne alongside his usual basket of onion rings. “Glad you could make it. Have you met with Dean yet?”

“No,” admits Castiel. “But… is he here?”

“Not yet,” she says. “But he should be showing up sometime soon. I heard he was making a move-out video with Sam and his dad today.” 

Castiel immediately wishes he’d been there to help, but he knows it’s for the best that he didn’t. As long as John took their creekside conversation seriously, and the move-out didn’t make the evening news for having a shockingly high body count or something, everything will be fine. 

“His father is making an appearance on his channel?” he asks instead, careful to affect a tone of nonchalant surprise. 

Jo clearly doesn’t buy it. “Did you have something to do with that?”

“Not directly,” replies Castiel simply. Miracles last longer when they come from humans, after all.

“Well, at least they didn’t murder each other, since Sam and Eileen are here already.” Jo nods over towards another table, where Ash is trying to activate closed captioning on the TVs for Eileen. Multiple screens are showing various New Year’s Eve programmes from around the world. It seems as if this night is just humanity as a whole taking a deep breath before plunging into a new year. 

Years have no meaning to Angels. Castiel loves New Year’s Eve anyway. 

“So,” says Jo, turning at the sound of a loud ‘pop’ only to laugh at Deputy Hanscum accidentally beaning Sheriff Mills in the head with a champagne bottle cork, “you have any resolutions for the New Year?”

“You mean, besides finally sorting stuff out with Dean?” wonders Castiel.

“Hoping you’d get _that_ done before midnight, actually.” Jo’s smile is downright wicked. “It’s tradition to kiss someone at midnight on New Year’s, after all.”

Castiel quickly files that into his ‘delightfully human excuses to kiss people’ folder alongside mistletoe, with memories of a certain snowy walk flashing back in his mind’s eye. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I haven’t thought of any other resolutions. I suppose… be more human?”

Jo punches him lightly on the forearm. “You’re an onion ring junkie procrastinating on making up with his boyfriend. Pretty damn human, if you ask me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” protests Castiel.

“Yet.” Jo winks, as the bell above the door tinkles again. “He just came in. No disappearing.”

Castiel resists the urge to sink into his seat, busying himself with the basket of onion rings instead. A set of familiar footsteps ring through the bar, drowning out everything else until Dean Winchester is standing by his booth, a carefully-folded beige trenchcoat in his hands. 

“Cas,” he says, that one syllable sounding more like a prayer than anything else Castiel has ever heard. 

“Dean,” he breathes, gestures to the seat opposite him. Dean slides in, places the trenchcoat on the table, and slides it across to Castiel.

“You left this at my place,” he explains, the low husk of his voice tugging at Castiel’s vessel’s gut. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible. “Thought I should return it before you left.”

“Thank you,” replies Castiel. He puts the coat back on, slips the gloves Dean had bought him into its pocket. 

“How have you been?” wonders Dean after a moment. His fingers twitch towards the onion rings, so Castiel gestures for him to help himself. 

“I’d like to apologise,” he begins, but Dean shakes his head, raises a hand to stop him.

“No, you were right,” he says. “I shouldn’t have — you’re an angel. It was stupid.”

“It was not stupid,” corrects Castiel. “It was everything — _everything_ I didn’t know I wanted until I met you.”

Dean blinks at him owlishly. Castiel chuckles a little, and reaches out to pat his hand.

“Do you know how long I’ve been alive, Dean? Millennia, easily. I watched the first fish crawl out of the primordial soup onto land. I’ve seen empires rise and fall and turn to dust. I’ve seen stars go supernova, and galaxies collapse. And _none_ of those things can compare to you.”

“Why?” wonders Dean. “I’m just… I’m just me. Fucked up kid turned into a fucked up adult, who doesn’t believe he deserves anything that lasts. Why me?”

“Well,” sighs Castiel, “in all of my years, I have met very few people who can touch hearts like you do. Your love is the glue that holds so many of your friends and family together. You know how to make Heaven on Earth, Dean. You just need to let yourself through the gates once in a while.”

Dean sighs, deflates imperceptibly. He reaches out, brushes his fingers against the back of Castiel’s hand. The very wake of his touch feels electric. 

“Cas,” murmurs Dean, “is there any way I can beg you not to go?”

“I’m sorry,” says Castiel. “When my time is up, it is up.”

“But — I could pray again. I could ask you to come back.”

“I don’t want you to do that, Dean.” 

Dean frowns. “Why not?”

“Because when I am called to answer a prayer, I am only asked to serve. I don’t want to just serve you.” _I want to love you like a human would love you. No God, no arrangements. Just Cas and Dean._

Dean blinks a little more rapidly than normal, coughs into his fist, sighs. “So — you’ll just go back to Heaven, then? And wait for the next person who needs you?”

“Something like that,” says Castiel, nodding.

“Sounds very _Highway to Heaven_ ,” teases Dean.

“I haven’t actually seen that one,” muses Castiel.

“I forgot, you only watch angel rom-coms and Bond movies.”

“Well, Charlie showed me a show about a necromancer and his righteous boyfriend, and that was pretty interesting.”

Dean huffs. “Of course.” The music suddenly changes, causing Dean to perk up and leap to his feet. “Dance with me, Cas.”

“What sort of dance?” wonders Castiel. He hasn’t danced since the fall of Constantinople, and the weird pin-headed jives so popular in Heaven aren’t exactly his style. 

“I dunno; we’ll figure it out.” Dean extends his hand, and Castiel takes it, and as they move together to the music, Castiel closes his eyes and believes that Heaven is, indeed, a place on Earth.

* * *

** so long old year bitchezz **

Created by enihpesoj91 • 42 songs, 2hrs 15min

  1. Get This Party Started - P!nk
  2. Boy With Luv (feat. Halsey) - BTS
  3. Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls
  4. Heaven is a Place on Earth - Belinda Carlisle 
  5. I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing - Aerosmith



* * *

It’s Castiel’s last night on Earth.

Dean has never hated New Year’s Eve before, but this year he might make an exception. 

As the clock inches closer to midnight, Dean’s heartbeat gets more and more erratic. Ten minutes until Castiel goes to Heaven.

Then five minutes.

Then one minute. 

The Mom Squad is singing “Auld Lang Syne”. The screens are filled with footage of fireworks and parties and the Times Square ball drop. Dean wishes he could take Castiel there, wishes he could see Castiel’s reaction to a big human city like New York. 

But he’s always been full of wishes, and life has always had a funny habit of snuffing those wishes out until he learnt to keep them tight to his chest. 

“I’m gonna miss you, Cas,” he tells Castiel instead, cupping the angel’s face as the people around them start to count down the last few seconds of this year. “There was so much more I wanted to show you. Like _Dogma_. And cheeseburgers.”

“I can get videos up in heaven,” says Castiel, already starting to get fuzzy around the edges of Dean’s hands. He holds on tighter, hoping it’ll buy him just a millisecond more. “I knew about Team Free Will long before I came here.”

Dean blinks. “So you had me make an ass out of myself introducing my channel to you?”

“I enjoyed it,” admits the angel, grinning despite the tears already trickling down his cheeks. “Dean, before I go, I just wanted to say —”

Dean shuts him up with a kiss just as the clock strikes midnight. When he opens his eyes, he’s holding nothing but thin air. 

The only consolation he has after that is that everyone else at the party was too busy kissing and hugging to notice anything else at all. 

* * *

_Excerpt from “You’ve Been Dean’d ep 15: Sammy Moves Out”:_

**DEAN:** So that’s it. That’s Sam, moving out. Moving on. And it’s gonna be a little weird for a little while, I know, but that’s just how it is. At some point in our lives I gotta give my baby brother up. Gotta let him spread his wings and fly the nest. It was already a miracle that I got all these extra years with him after the accident with Jess. He was in a really dark place for a while, and I like to think our stupid little channel helped him get out of it a bit. 

So… what next? 

Sammy and I will probably continue to make videos, and Eileen might be in them, too, and… I think my dad’s warmed up a little to the channel, too? Stranger things have happened. But Sam will also have his law practice, which will be all the world-saving stuff he deserves, and I’ll be here when he wants to hang up his superhero cape and shoot the shit or something.

But… something happened this past Christmas which really helped me get to where I am right now. I don’t want to talk too much about it — you’re not here to listen to me talk about my feelings — but long story short, I realized I needed time to be my own man for a while. So, Cas, if you’ve got signal in whatever cloud you’re stashed in, thank you. I hope we’ll see each other again someday.

* * *

“And _this_ is your reason to request a long-term pass?” wonders Gabriel, staring at the video. “I mean, it seems like you did your job. It’s over. There’s no need for a follow-up.”

Castiel shifts a little and twiddles all eighty-seven of his thumbs. His brother sighs, rubbing at one of his many foreheads. 

“Castiel, you do realise standard procedure for your situation is to actually reassign you _halfway across the world_ from Dean Winchester, right?”

“I got you a present from Earth,” replies Castiel, producing the hand buzzer he’d purchased on Christmas Eve. Gabriel tries to take it, but the buzzer goes off in his hand. 

“It tickles,” he remarks drily. Castiel shrugs. He then produces the fidget spinner he’d gotten from his first night, and hands it over, too. “How many things from Earth did you get?”

“Also a pair of knitted gloves,” says Castiel. “But I didn’t bring those today.”

“Hm.” The archangel contemplates the items and the video, and then examines Castiel’s request again. “Standard procedure guarantees that time will cure you of whatever emotions that hairless ape called Dean Winchester has stuck into your mind.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “I am detecting a caveat,” he remarks.

“But,” agrees Gabriel, “given this _stupid_ Muggle’s determination to stick his nose into heavenly business and film himself doing so, perhaps specialised intervention is required to keep him away from anything _truly_ dangerous.”

Castiel raises all of his eyebrows. “You’re granting me my pass.”

Gabriel snorts. “Well, I _was_ going to be the perfect little cog in the heavenly bureaucracy,” he says, “but watching my brother prepare to crash and burn trying to woo a human might be more entertaining.”

He stamps Castiel’s request form. Castiel narrowly avoids the temptation to gavotte in victory. 

“Take your form down to processing to get your pass,” sighs Gabriel. “And don’t fuck this up.”

* * *

“Okay,” says Dean, as their cameraman Adam gives them the thumb-up. “Welcome to a new episode of GhostHunters. I’m Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sam.”

“Asking questions, filming things, the family business,” adds Sam.

“We’re here tonight in Calvary Cemetery in Wyoming to investigate the legend of the Devil’s Gate. Rumour has it that one of these graves here is secretly a portal to Hell.”

It’s just another night, another video. They’ve set up camp in the abandoned cemetery, with a small fire crackling between them to chase away the early spring cold. Dean did the research on the Devil’s Gate this time, since Sam had been bogged down by court cases for the past three weeks. This is his only free weekend this month, and they’ll be damned if they don’t make the most of it. 

“According to the lore,” says Sam, “In 1861, a man named Samuel Colt shot dead two demons trying to get him to open the Gate.”

“What kinda gun has that kinda mojo, and where can I find one?” wonders Dean.

“Thinking of upgrading from your holy water pistol?” teases Sam.

Dean snorts. “It would probably be really funny if Samuel Colt had a holy water pistol, too.”

“Yeah, just drawing that on a bunch of demons. Pew pew!” Sam mimes the shooting, while Dean pulls out a map of the area. 

“So, Samuel Colt’s one of those paranoid sons of bitches, and he apparently took this Gate pretty seriously, because he’s encased the entire thing inside a hundred-mile-long pentagram.”

“And since this is a show where we question the existence of the supernatural,” continues Sam, “We’re going to spend the night and see if we can find any demons lurking around.”

“Cut!” announces Adam. “That was good. Let’s get in some demon hunting before we go to bed.”

“How?” wonders Sam. “Are we gonna sit around and ask them to talk to us with flashlights again? Or are we gonna spend some time in the big crypt at the centre of the cemetery, chill with the demons a little?”

“Hey there demons, it’s me, ya boy,” jokes Dean. 

“You should say that. I bet the Internet would love that,” gushes Adam.

They get the cameras up and rolling again, to catch footage of them heading to the central crypt. But along the way, a flash of light behind a headstone catches Dean’s eye. 

“Did you see that?” he asks. Adam swings around, but catches nothing.

“It’s probably nothing,” dismisses Sam.

“It was white light,” says Dean. “Maybe demons come in white light.”

“I dunno, given how movies keep portraying them, I’d be nothing short of disappointed if they didn’t show up in blasts of hellfire,” declares Sam. “It’s probably your eyes playing tricks on you, man, or —”

But Dean is no longer listening. He’d ventured closer to the tombstone, watching a figure emerge from the light. He shines his flashlight on it, and what he sees nearly makes him drop everything. 

“Cas?” he demands, as his wonderful, scruffy Angel of the Lord squints into the beam of his flashlight and then straight at Adam’s camera.

“Hello, Dean,” says Castiel. “It’s been a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on references through the fic:
> 
> -Each chapter's title is taken from one of the angel movies mentioned in part 1.  
> -A couple lines: "This is heaven", "If you're wicked, then so am I", "You know how to make Heaven on Earth" are shamelessly borrowed from The Bishop's Wife.  
> -"He hasn’t danced since the fall of Constantinople, and the weird pin-headed jives so popular in Heaven aren’t exactly his style." is a direct reference to the age-old question "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?"  
> -The Incident in London and Castiel's almost-victory gavotte are references to Aziraphale from Good Omens. fantastic book and show, please watch it!!  
> -"Necromancer and righteous boyfriend" technically a reference to the Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi, but I also took the liberty of making a SPN joke out of it in one of my other fic-verses [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748562/chapters/68342851). Read if you want to learn about Johnson Hackles' Hexy Hacting Hoices against your will (questionable)

**Author's Note:**

> We could call it even  
> You could call me "babe" for the weekend  
> 'Tis the damn season, write this down  
> I'm stayin' at my parents' house  
> And the road not taken looks real good now  
> Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires  
> Now I'm missing your smile, hear me out  
> We could just ride around  
> And the road not taken looks real good now  
> —["'tis the damn season" by Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuvhOD-mP8M&ab_channel=TaylorSwiftVEVO)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/lilywinterwood)


End file.
